Star Wars: Knights of the Old Republic
by THE-WRITING-GEEK
Summary: Honestly, I'm terrible at writing summaries, so just bear with me. I'm attempting - yes, attempting - to write a novelization of Star Wars, Knights of the Old Republic. If you haven't played the game, then go play it! :) If you have played it, then read this. And then read on and PLEASE read some more, and then review for me! Enjoy! :)
1. Introduction: Unbreakable

**Okay So Here's A Quick Note: **

**Hey guys! Firstly, I know this introduction probably seems a little odd, and to be frank I agree, mostly. I kind of got all ADD with it when I wrote it yesterday, and it DEFINITELY veers from the typical scene in the video game -mostly because I intended to focus on Bastila's struggle with her emotion's, and this piece just came out showing my own struggle on how to portray something like that. **

**Now trust me, even if this introduction seems to stray too far at times and you wind up thinking, "Well, what the hell was that?", just know that it will probably make more sense as I start to add more chapters, which I intend to. :) **

**Also, this Introduction was intended to be placed BEFORE the prologue, even though it says Chapter One. I'd fix that, but I'm new to this site and I can't seem to find a way to fix _that_ (let alone find out if I even can). (If you know how to fix this, PLEASE LET ME KNOW - yes, I am a caps-lock-happy freak. **

**Anyway, when you're reading the chapter that will come after this, just remember that it was meant to say PROLOGUE instead of Chapter Two.**

**The dragon concept that you'll find, I do not own, nor did I invent - - it belongs solely to a phenomenal author named Matthew Stover, just so we're clear on this. :) **

**Okay, that's all. Sorry to bug you - - now start reading! :)**

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**(I DO NOT OWN STAR WARS (But if I did I'd be really freaking happy and drunk right now). The Original Story is by Drew Karpyshyn. All the names, characters, places, etc. are copyright of LucasArts-well, copyright of _Disney_ now...*eye-twitch*)**

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**Introduction: Unbreakable**

**The dream is always the same...**

"_You cannot win, Revan."_

That voice holds everything. But for the time being, you hold on to only a handful of _everything._

Every smell, every sight, every sound: these are just the details of a dream you've kept locked away in that lone, pulsing box of stretching tissues and rushing bloodstreams, hidden like the vague strains of love that keep it beating.

It's the _words_ you speak––not just the voice––which crush the spin of the galaxy beneath you. They ignite the raw sizzle of power that boils through your veins, tingling and sparking in your muscles, wrapping you in swells of strength that resonate across every fiber of your being. They kindle the molten green fire that smolders beneath your caged breast, then sings to life in your hand with a single twist of your mind. They depower the blazing stream of battle, the infinite storm of carnage––the _universe_ at large––like the shattered surface of a melted control unit, silenced in one staggering split-instant of the millennial time-space continuum––

You hardly even hear them.

You only feel the words as they brush softly past your lips. Then they're gone.

By this point, you're shaking.

Fear is jolting through your bones, making you shiver down to the marrow as you realize there is still so much _more_ you blaze like the sun to say. Your voice has become throttled and tight. Your breath becomes a whisper––a whisper of that tinier, inner self who is screaming in your mind and squirming in the back of your throat, chewing away at the walls of your trachea as if _they_ are the barriers of discipline restraining you from touching your own dying will, concrete and iron-solid.

Unbreakable.

The combustion of overloaded circuitry is thick in the air. Your eyes water; your skin burns and itches and your body swelters, and yet beneath the hide-layers of your boots your feet have gone ice cold––even in your moments of strength, you will always feel your weakness, somehow.

And right now your weakness is that fragile shard in the mosaic of you; that piece you keep alive only to remind yourself of your own humanity: when you're forced to step back from a flaming wreck, to pull your blade out of an enemy, to meet the cold, drifting eyes of a dying face.

You don't even know why that shard is _here, _now.

But now you have to be strong. You were chosen to be _brave_. You have _always _been brave, except––

You remember the Trials.

You remember the deathless constant of white-hot time; the blistering mind-desert that you scoured until you were weak and scorched and boneless. Decades to an entire millennium could have passed in that constant, with only the shifting mental horizons to discern the end to each step, and the start of every new one. Your thoughts had been only emptiness, only silence––_lack, _as valuable as the sand––while you drifted slowly into the oblivion below sanity, tossed through the white tides of emotion that swept you out night and day after day and night.

You remember everything you saw then. How many times had you felt the cold touch of your dying self? Walked alongside that old rough-faced Jedi ambassador, wearing only the clothes on your back as you left behind the green world Talravin, and the memory of your mother's bitter grey eyes on the porch-step of your squarish brick hut? How many times had you watched your father die alone on the cold stone floor of an alien cave, sobbing and bleeding, not even once meeting your gaze?

How many times did you have to face the dragon?

The dragon...

Even now, as you raise your blade to meet the shadow of this _Revan _before you, you find the dragon's eyes staring back at you. Those glacial, bronze gems delve deep into the crevices of your own self, slipping through the turning pages and the rolling gears and the slamming gates, melting through every keyhole and sweeping in to skidding halt just outside the cold, crystal light of one delicately trembling creature. A creature not of the mind, nor the face––

But only of the heart.

You hate that creature.

You hate that _dragon_. That wretched desert monster...

You remember how the dragon had met its end, how it had squirmed and _shrieked _on your mind-blade until its writhing screams had run dry, and then at last had coiled into a dry carcass on the cave floor, its bones like chalk and its hide like crinkled dusty parchment.

As you duel now, the dragon should be gone. _Should_ be...

But nothing that should be ever is––not in your universe.

The dragon lies rotting in the gutters of your mind, even now, but you know that you never truly slayed it. The dragon is a part of you, a shard in the mosaic of you. And you can _never_ rid yourself of who you are, no matter what you might be, or rather, _want_ to be. Even now, long after the Trial of Spirit, you can still hear the dragon whisper, reminding you of how you had listened to its stories while you lie dying on the cold, damp stone of its echoing lair.

You were at its mercy then. You always will be.

In the night, you no longer sleep, while in the day you walk with a haunted sort of grace. You dream of pain and suffering. Of death. Of nightmares with no end and dawns with no light––

And the dragon in between.

And the war...the war _itself_ has become the reality of it all, gathered by the crash-colliding fates of the universe like some cruel gift spat from the desert-dragon's sneering, toothy maw; a hypercompacted disk of spiral arms and broken dusty worlds far beyond repair, and the torture that _you_ should be the one to fix things best left crippled.

Should be...

You turn and face the shadow, clinging to the end of your weapon in a white-knuckled deathgrip, feeling the pulse of its power and the rhythm of its song. And in the fraction of a quantum split instant, something happens that your scarcely even have the time required to understand.

The Force, or fate, or destiny...or perhaps something else entirely––

It strikes the dragon before you, _for_ you.

The view wall explodes like a proton grenade and blows inward. The shock sweeps the shadow into the air and throws him flailing like a rag-doll over bank after bank of terminals, swallowed in the plasma-infused storm of crystallizing fire that shatters the final moments of his lifelong memory––

And blasts away his universe.

A hurricane roars to life. From your sides shoot two arms; two deceptively-strong, reflexive hands that grip hold to the first thing they find, and soon you're fighting against a howling white river of flash-frozen air. Against a windstorm that plasters your clothes to your skin, your hair to your face. Soon your lungs are shriveling, choking––_screaming_ for air.

Your fingers start to _slip_...

You squeeze your eyes shut.


	2. Prologue

**Another Quick Note (yeah, you'd better get used to these...)**

** :****Okay, so I finally found out how to change the chapter titles, and what you're about to read now SHOULD say Prologue in the little chapter drop-menu-box thing. And if it doesn't...well, then that just really, really sucks...**

**Anyway, I'm sorry if the end to this chapter is cut a little short, but I might not be able to write much over these next few days, and that kinda starts in a few minutes for me. :/ So, hope you guys enjoy this! Please read and review if you can!**

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**Prologue**

From the depths of mediation came a memory

"_It would be a mercy to leave him..."_

Bastila tensed. She had watched a number of the dead _die. _It was an inevitable of these dark times––to regard the deaths of those around you with caution, to remove them from the surface of your conscious after they're gone, and then to simply move on.

It wasn't always so simple.

Even now, ten standard years into the war, it was the memory of those who had passed, the sound of their voices, that was still nestled snug in some deep pocket of her heart. During her meditations they resurfaced, and she could never quite find the strength to submerge them again, to force them back to their frozen, dormant states.

But _this_ voice...

The voice she heard now belonged only to a cold memory––cold in a sense longer than dormancy; cold as in lack of love; cold in a whispering corner of her soul that, even now, tried to reach for her conscience in the dead of the night, when only the silence was there to listen.

Indeed, it _would_ have been a mercy to leave him, Revan, and yet she hadn't. She constantly wondered, had saving him been the right thing to do? She knew her acts had been out of some pitiful tug at morality; at her bonds to humanity. It was a Jedi's sworn oath to preserve all of life. But she remembered kneeling before him in the red-washed light of the blast-shielded bridge, staring upon his bashed lips and his bruised face and his sallow cheeks––

staring upon the maw of the dragon, gazing between its fluttering eyelids to its heinous bronze chasms––

–-and then feeling the cold, icy rush of energy as she willed it out the tips of her spirit, melding it into his crystallizing frays of strength; stabilizing him; salvaging him; sustaining him.

Saving him

Her breathing hitched. Struggling to stay anchored to the present, Bastila withdrew from meditation, peeling away the bonds of introspection as she opened her eyes and was once more immersed in the caliginous cancer of the darkside and its plaguing cloud on the Force.

From the view panels that flanked the narrow portside of the _Endar_ _Spire'_s command cabin, a monotonous silver sheen threw shadows over the creases in her mattress––she stared at these for several moments, feeling lost. Outside, the frosty cobalt vortex of hyperspace spiraled on and on...

Minutes on end could have passed by the time she felt the disturbance.

It came on a cresting wave of the darkside, staining black the white of her mind, and her efforts to center her emotions. Her body stiffened, and more by instinct than urge she came to her feet. Not even a minute later, the superstructures of the ship around her began to _groan_.

In a whipcrack of hypersonic velocity, the _Endar_ _Spire_ closed its reversion to realspace. Outside the viewport, the spiraling tunnel of hyperspace evaporated to a boundless black abyss strewn with mottled white. Bastila frowned, and a chill clattered up her spine.

Had the Spire actually just been _pulled _from hyperspace?

Her confusion was answered as a brush of the darkside billowed like greasy smoke into the present, just a whisper at first, then erupting into a roar that echoed the thunder of recoiling turbocannons. The deck gave a tremor beneath her boots, and she slipped out of the cabin, lightsaber in hand.

The Dark Lord was here.

**d**

Carth Onasi, Republic war hero and––as was often quoted––the greatest starpilot in the galaxy, was not a Jedi.

There was not a modicum of midichlorian _Jedi-genes..._or whatever those things were called...that ran through his veins, and if there ever _had_ been but one, you would likely find him in need of an emergency blood transfusion.

Onasi was a mundane, to say the least, with not a fray of connection to the Force: and yet the Dark Lord had a presence that could make any one _mundane's _hackles rise, even from kilometers away.

In a _CRACK _of white-washed light, the Sith cruiser blinked into existence. Carth didn't have to look outside to know which one it was-he knew the sound of those engines...

_The Leviathan..._

Carth shuddered in his skin, meanwhile his ship––the_ Endar Spire_––shuddered in her elite, plastisteel armor as garrotes of fire chewed relentlessly at her defense shields, splintering into prismatic bursts of light that flashed like silent lightning through the shadows on the command bridge.

The ship lurched, and Carth slammed hard into the catwalk rails. His eyes flashed violently and his chest pounded, and to a young officer in the crew pit below him, he hissed through a gritted wall of teeth––

"Status _report..."_

"Sith fighters!" the officer responded diligently; frantically. Sweat was collecting on the young man's brow, glistening in the light of outside explosions. "Their numbers...it's hard to say. They're just––they just keep _multiplying_..."

Carth threw a glance out the viewport, scanning for the soft blue light of the deflectors. They seemed to be holding off well, but he knew they wouldn't sustain that way for long.

The _Spire_ was new––_brand_ new, not even two months out of the hyperworks factories on Arda II's gleaming industrialized surface. But a captain always knows his ship, in and out, even long before he takes it away from the wharf: the _Spire_'s heat sinks were her biggest fault. While the shields absorbed round upon round of turbofire, the heat sinks just couldn't work fast enough to nullify the overloading heat capacity. Even now, Carth could spot the drams of superheated plasma reactions starting to pock the surface of the rayshields.

He cursed. Sure, a captain accepts the flaws of his ship. But it sure was nice to have _less_ of them...

The officer below spoke up. _"Sir––?"_

"What's our position?"

"We're...just outside the Ojoster Sector." The officer flicked his stare out the viewport, "And just above the planet Taris."

A Sith world. Wonderful.

"Where's the bloody Jedi?" Carth growled, catching himself on the railing as the ship bucked again. The officer jolted in his crash-webbing, and from the end of the bridge the turbolift doors cycled open––

And in stepped the _bloody Jedi._

"Return fire and prepare for hyperjump!" she barked out in her tight Talravin accent, not once meeting Carth's fuming stare as she strode down the catwalk.

Carth's jaw clenched. "They just pulled us _out_ of hyperspace. Do you honestly think––"

"What I think _goes. _We're in the dead of space outside the Hydian Way, and we need to make the jump to the next planet possible. At least there we'll have _someplace_ of refuge."

"Refuge?" echoed the officer nervously.

Carth ignored the boy. He turned and jerked one thumb over his shoulder, pointing to the dusty orb of Taris that orbited among the stars outside. "I won't make a blind jump with all these men on board. We can find refuge on the planet below."

The Jedi––Bastila Shan, so she was called––looked skeptical. "Taris? It's practically under Sith control! The jump is the only––"

The officer's next shout cut Bastila's words short, his voice quivering with shock.

"The hyperdrive is down_..._ They've _blasted_ it!"

Color drained from Bastila's angelic face. Had the circumstances not been so dire, Carth just might have allowed his own face a little smirk. "We can find refuge _on the planet below."_ he said again, then caught sight of the lightsaber in Bastila's hand. "You're expecting a boarding party this soon?"

As Bastila started to speak, the officer interrupted..._again_. "Incoming vessel..." Now _his_ face drained. "Advanced boarding party, inbound!"

Bastila looked at Carth darkly. "I really wish you hadn't said that..." She continued before he could even retort, "Fine––to the planet below it is. Evacuate everyone to the escape pods––"

"No. You go first."

She looked at the rugged starpilot incredulously. "Carth, I won't abandon––"

"You're too important to the war effort." he said dryly, _And if you weren't the goddamned tide-turning key to a galactic-scale war, I would just turn you over to Malak and be on my way..._

For a moment Bastila's features drew tight like a kinrath pup, and behind her misting grey eyes was a storm of guilt. Carth almost regretted his earlier thought.

Then she straightened. "You're right." she said, nodding distantly. "Find the crew safely to the planet once I'm gone. Understood?"

"Understood." Carth had to brace himself to spit out _that_ word.

**d**


	3. Prologue Part 2

**Another Quick Note: **

**Hey guys! I haven't written in a few days, but here's the next chapter. Again, I'm sorry if it's a little short, but it seems pretty good! Also, I don't know how to respond to reviews (let alone if I even can ), but thank you for reading and posting one, Nyethux! This chapter is for you and anyone else who has enjoyed the story this far! I know I have! Hope you enjoy!**

**Battle of the Endar Spire:**

_**The dragon stirs...**_

The scream of tortured metal snapped him back to the present.

The memory of where he had been before––falling in a fearsome struggle between burning red hell and smoldering green fire––gradually shrank to darkness behind his temples, and he watched a new sight: a blast of, oh what was that? Blaster bolts?

Yes, a flaming round of _blaster bolts _shot past, skimming so close to his face that he could _smell _the burning plasma––as well as his own hair––before it stitched the wall beside him in glowing red.

He watched this with mild interest.

There were plenty more of these _blaster_ _bolts_ to go around, so it seemed. He was lying flat on his back in an entire _firestorm_ of blaster bolts. The air was heavy and clotted, choked with combustion, while the monotonous red sheen of emergency lighting danced over the metal surfaces around him, among them silver wristguards and helmets and black-tinted visors...

He froze. He _knew _this one, so he realized suddenly, feeling like a child hopping in his seat with the answer to a joke or a riddle. He _knew_ who wore that kind of armor, what with the wristguards and the helmets and the black visors and all––a _Sith._

The thought sank in.

_Oh,_ he thought blankly. His heart sank.

Wonderful.

He lie there another moment, waiting for the sobering buzz in his head––which reminded him vaguely of swarming dathomite beetles––to cease. What filled his ears next was the muffled sound of blaring klaxons. He brought a hand to the side of his head, drew it back smeared with clumpy dark blood.

Oh, now he had a bad feeling about this...

There came a shout, familiar but less-than liberating:

"Fallon!"

He rolled himself upright and looked over his shoulder––

Bloodshot blue eyes sheered into his burning reality, wide-eyed and close. He yelped and scrambled back, his burned-in instincts yanking him flat to the deck as another round of blasterfire shot overhead.

He blinked. Hovering over him was a young, robust-looking male; human; a blond-matted brow that was knitted in a tight frown. The man spoke: "You okay? You hit your head pretty damn hard, back there on the gunner's bank! Hey, can you hear me? Fallon?"

"My-My name isn't..." he trailed off, suddenly unsure of himself.

The blue-eyed man frowned deeper. _Trask_. This man's name was _Trask_––he remembered this as if the knowledge had been hardwired into his brain since the dawn of the galaxy, and he felt himself turn cold as space. But..._why?_

Trask spoke. "What did you say, soldier?"

"I said that's not my name..." He gingerly touched his scalp. Not his name? How could that _not _be his name?

_You're Fallon Cross, soldier in the Republic Naval Corps_––the thought whispered into his conscious, like a vague memory from before his time, and yet something he had always known.

By the gods, was that even _possible?_

_You hit you're head pretty hard back there, on the gunner's bank..._

He frowned. No kidding.

Trask interrupted his mental processes. "Well last time I checked, you _are _Fallon Cross." he said, "But that's unless Malak has some new chromo-copied bipeds running around in here..."

_Malak..._

Fallon felt a hot sting erupt in his blood, and his hands folded into fists. "In hell, maybe..." he muttered coldly.

Trask snorted, looking around, his hands snagging something from the floor beside him––a blaster rifle. "Brother, in case you haven't noticed," he sighed, shoving the rifle into Fallon's arms, "we _are_ in hell."

Before Fallon could reply, the sound of screaming metal tore through the smoky air, and the deck tilted. Fallon dropped his rifle and flung his arms around the post of a nearby console, if only to keep himself from sliding. He looked frantically at Trask. "Is this thing gonna capsize?"

For that matter, what was this place––

_This is the Endar_ _Spire_, he thought dumbly.

Trask snorted, startling him. "It's not the gravity vectors I would worry about right now." he said, with his own rifle taking a shot at a man in silver armor––a _Sith. _

The Sith swayed and his knees buckled, and he fell. Then––more disturbingly––Trask continued to talk as though he hadn't just killed a man. "It's the _shields_ that are gonna be a problem soon! Now lets _move!"_

_You first, _Fallon thought blankly, his eyes fixated on the limp Sith body, watching the dance of fire that spiraled outside the viewport and reflected off the dead man's armor. Fallon tore himself away from the sight and moved to stand. Only when he reached for his rifle did he realize that his hands were shaking.

Oh yes, he had a _very_ bad feeling about this...

** .::.**

After much protest the buckled doors gave way in their sockets. Trask stepped through first.

By now, Fallon's mental fibers were screaming silently for him to move faster, mostly so that he could get away from the corrupted detritus and carnage that now dominated the bridge behind them. The corridor beyond was deathly silent. Their footfalls sang through the hall as they moved, their forms silhouetted in the lightning that flashed silently in through the starboard view panels.

Fallon counted paces as they went along, his brain nervously ticking off the remaining seconds of life that the ship probably had left.

Ticking. Ticking. Sweat dripped into his eye and he blinked it away. _Ticking, ticking..._

"Bastila wasn't on the bridge." Trask's nervous voice broke the silence as he peered around the corner. Bodies littered the floor.

Carefully avoiding eye-contact with any dead stares, Fallon said, "Who's Bastila?"

That almost made Trask stop dead in his gait. "By the gods, Cross! How hard _did _you hit your head?"

_You tell me. _"That doesn't answer much."

Trask sighed, his knuckles whitening around his rifle. "Bastila Shan is our Commanding officer."

With those words, the memory of the commander's angelic face flooded to Fallon's mind: olive skin, brown hair, gray eyes. _Shan. _

Fallon nodded in his sudden revelation, "Just like Onasi..." Now Trask turned and looked at him, his face lighting up as he realized his comrade wasn't too far gone.

"Yes! Exactly like Onasi." he said, then paused before adding, "Well, not _exactly_ like him..."

"What do you mean?"

Trask snorted. "Oh, if you ever met the two..."

The deck bucked and nearly knocked Fallon's feet out from under him. He stumbled; Trask cursed. They recovered their balance and moved on, this time with a little extra urgency to get their heels bouncing.

"If the Commanders weren't on the bridge, then where are they now?" Fallon asked, jogging to keep pace.

"The escape pods." Trask said, "...or dead."

They rounded the corner and scanned the forked hallway. The overheads were flickering and casting movement over the walls, and more than once Fallon felt himself jump in his skin.

"The escape pods are just ahead. We can be there in a minute, tops––" Trask broke off his speech and trailed. His brows had regathered under his blond hair. "Do you hear that?" he said, cocking his head curiously to one side.

Fallon shook his head, then stopped. He heard it, too...but not in the same sense as Trask.

No, he _felt _it...

It whispered to him, crawling into the ship from the flashing black maw of destruction outside, sliding down the walls and spreading along the floors. Fallon shifted nervously from foot to foot.

"Trask, I don't think––"

"Something's behind that door." Trask said, nodding to the portside. Fallon followed his comrade's stare. A hatch-door was bucking on its tracks, spitting showers of sparks across the deck. It wasn't the first they had encountered thus far.

Trask stepped toward the hatch, "Oh, _god_...I think someone's trapped _behind_ it––"

The whisper Fallon heard rose to a susurration. Then to a hollow roar that he felt humming and burning in his bones like an alien poison. His instincts flared to life and he moved forward to pull Trask away––

A fountain of scarlet lanced through the hatch, its sizzling tip stopping just centimeters from Trask's heart. Trask froze.

"Trask, move." Fallon warned, backing toward the end of the corridor. The ship lurched again.

"It's a Sith Lord." Trask seemed to say mostly to himself. "Get out of here. I'll hold him off-he'll be on our tails before we know it, if I don't."

Fallon stopped. This guy was just_ mental..._

Trask looked over his shoulder, glaring at Fallon as the scarlet spear behind him burned its way through the hatch, slowly carving an opening in the durasteel. "If Bastila isn't on this ship, then she's probably already escaped to Taris! And that means there's nothing left to stop Malak from blasting this ship to dust! You have to find Shan!"

Fallon blinked, _"Find_ her––how––"

_How?_

"Get to the escape pods!" Trask snarled, panic creeping into his eyes. "It's our sworn duty to protect Bastila! Without her, this war is just a lost cause––"

Behind the soldier, about a third of the hatch had been reduced to glowing molten metal, and now crumbled away like smoldering lava rock. Beyond the threshold there stood a shadow, stark against the battle outside. The shadow raised its blade, the scarlet light painting the darkness and illuminating a face that burned with menace, and eyes that whispered softly the death of the galaxy.

Trask thrust one hand at Fallon. _"Go!" _

Fallon's feet were already carrying him away.


	4. Chapter One

**Note:**

**Okay guys, so here's the next chapter. I might be able to post another one tomorrow, so we'll see how that goes. I want to apologize if this chapter here seems a little choppy-writing different sections in this manner is a habit I have yet to break. Also, the first section of this (with Carth) was intended to be the last part of the prologue. I never got around to fixing that and so I'm sorry if Chapter One takes off on a different foot than you might expect.**

**Anyway, I hope you enjoy this! **

**CHAPTER ONE**

The security consoles...

Carth hated this part. _Hated _it––if the bypass sequence didn't override a door, then came the long security code that took ten seconds to remember and another ten to punch in. And after the security code refused to go through, those glowing letters **LOCKDOWN** would spider across the display and cycle endlessly through Carth's mind until he wanted to gouge his eyes out and simply die.

Presently, he stood fuming inside the life pod bay, his knuckles stinging red––punching the console clearly hadn't helped. Why he thought it even would, he could not say. But he _did _know that he just wanted to _open _the_ damn door_ so he could slip into the portside section of the bay, clamber into an escape pod, seal the airlocks and punch that lovely green **EJECT **key...

He couldn't remember the code to bypass the lockdown.

The _Spire_ shuddered, her superstructures pleading for an end to the turbotorture being inflicted. Carth's eyes flickered to the pod alcove on his left, which now stood corrugated and empty, just like every other one around him.

He actually found himself wishing the bloody Jedi were here_––she_ might actually know what to do in this situation. She'd probably just cut through the door with her lightsaber, or use magic––the _Force_––to send it flying off its hinges.

By the gods, for once Carth wished that he _had_ been born with those midi-Jedi-chlorien things...

As he glared at the console, a picture of smoking black computer carnage popped to mind, and his fingers began to twitch nervously beside the blaster holstered at his hip.

Then his personal comlink buzzed inside his jacket, and a frown touched his brow. A crew mate––aside from himself––was actually still _alive?_ Honestly, he thought he had sent the remaining survivors on their way to Taris, in the last two escape pods.

He reached for the comm and brought it to his lips. "Copy! Does anyone copy?"

The voice that responded was barely audible, muffled in the static interference crowding the airwaves. It crackled through the comm's scaled speakers. _"...this...'lon Cross..."_

As Carth started to reply, the walls around him screamed, and the deck threw itself vertical. He slipped and caught himself on the override console as klaxons began to wail somewhere outside the pod bay. Beyond the transparisteel view panels––most of which had cracked under glancing turbofire––the wavering blue glow of the _Spire's_ shields flickered, faded, _vanished. _

Carth pulled himself upright and began hammering every code that came to mind into the console, his heart leaping into his throat. He barely even heard the doors that led into the bay hiss and cycle open.

"Five-two and forty." came a voice behind him, crackling with the undertones of a lively man scared for his life. Carth spun around, his blaster found his hand––

The man standing before him wore a soldier's uniform, a thick mop of unruly raven hair where his cap should have been, molten bronze chasms in his eyes.

In his hand was a comlink.

"What did you say?" Carth forced out.

"The bypass code. It's five-two and forty." the man said, pushing Carth aside and punching those very numbers into the console––

The portside doors slid into the wall.

"You lucky bastard..." Carth breathed, then said aloud, "Is anyone else with you?"

The man shook his head as he hurried through the open hatchway, scanning the rows of escape pods on his right. "Doesn't matter now. This ship is scrap."

_More like superheated spongecake, _Carth thought as he glanced out the viewport and glimpsed the_ Spire_'s exterior armor––sure enough, the turbofire had blasted the raw durasteel surfaces to a porous consistency. He looked back at the raven-haired man, who was pulling back the hatch of the nearest pod. The hatch hissed on its airlocks and slid away, and the man stepped back.

He gestured inside the cramped pod.

"You first, Commander."

**.::.**

The turbolift shot up past level after level of the _Leviathan_'s nebulous superstructures. Saul Karath––_Admiral_ Karath; he had to get used to that name––stood in that turbolift pod, his face chalky and pale as curdled gruk slime, his nervous hands clammy at his back.

He could feel the white bands of pressure stretching over his knuckles, stinging, _stinging..._

Years of disciplinary life molded his features into a calm, confident expression, and yet just beneath the flesh he could feel his blood pounding through his veins.

Surely he wouldn't be held responsible. He _couldn't _be. It had been Bandon––_Bandon––_who had let her get away. _Bandon _had been charged with the strike; _Bandon _had been left responsible for the outcome of this assault; _Bandon _had led his _own_ strike force inside the Endar Spire, and _they_ had failed.

Saul had merely directed theorbital forces.

So yes, _surely_ the fault would be driven onto Bandon...

And yet the thought of facing the Dark Lord––the very picture of Malak's unbridled power breeding into cold, raw fury––made Saul's skin crawl. He wished Dirth was here. Dirth would know what to say, or what to do. He always did––

_Had, _Saul corrected himself. Dirth always _had _known what to do...

Dirth was gone now. Dead: his final stroke of honor had been his first stand...and his last stand, as well as the only reason that his ranking insignia was now sown onto Saul's uniform––

The turbolift's gleaming doors whished open, and Saul forced one heavy foot out after the next.

At the end of the catwalk that cut through the crew pits, a shadow towered beside the blossoming view wall of battle.

Saul swallowed his fear and proceeded down the catwalk. As he walked, he glimpsed the starboard view: outside, the_ Endar Spire _was a smoldering scrap, now drifting lifelessly through the stars as swarms of strike interceptors swooped in from all angles and fired relentlessly upon the warship––or, what was _left_ of it.

Another sight caught Saul's eye: the blue ion streaks of an escape pod spiraling down through the chaos, burning upon entry into Taris' atmosphere...

Wonderful.

The Admiral returned his stare to the Dark Lord; he stopped just feet away and knelt.

"My Lord," the words worked their way out. "Bandon has reported back..."

The shadow made not a move. He stood like a towering silhouette of perpetual gloom, brushed out of darkness by the conflicting ends of the universe. Draped over his shoulders was a floor-length, clasp-brace cape that pooled around his feet like woven blood. Beneath a crawling nightmare of cybernetics and cold crystal circuitry, there was a face. Beneath that face, some speculated, resided only an abyss––a fathomless void from childhood's endless nightmares, or a breached cavity that cycled right open to the hard, lung-crushing vacuum of cosmic infinity.

Presently, that face stared on, or rather, _out––_outinto infinity with eyes cold enough to make the stars outside crack and bleed white life into the abyss below.

Something else in the Dark Lord's stare said that he would have loved to watch just this.

Saul continued his report, his body suddenly feeling like a prison, "Lord Malak, we––_Bandon_ claims that Bastila isn't aboard the ship. She never was, or that she escaped before they could reach her––"

"She has fled, like every and any coward."

The voice that ripped its way out of the Dark Lord's black mass was cold and broken, a rasping ghost-voice spoken through the electrosonic vocabulators that were hardwired into his larynx. Saul braced himself not to startle.

He couldn't be sure, but...the shadow appeared to be _deepening_ with every explosion outside, gradually growing darker than the surrounding infinite night...

"My Lord...?"

The Dark Lord's response seemed to be in the anger that made the air around his form shimmer like a living heat. Then he spoke. "Quarantine the planet––the _entire_ planet." he rasped, then added in a tone that made the marrow in Saul's bones boil. "Do not let her escape, Saul Karath. Do not fail me again."

**.::.**

_four days later..._

Where night and day had become a perpetual black constant, the neural disruptor clasped around her neck intermingled brainwork with the infinite nightmares of a rattled subconscious.

Time and again, she would feel the dragon's hot breath down her neck; would see his molten eyes glinting like bronze firelight in a dark corner of her cell. She'd startle and wake, only to find herself immersed in a realm that leaked delusion into illusion and sent doubt sleeting across the inside of her skull.

What she saw of her captors was only shifting black mass; figures thrown into silhouette by a crack of white that would spill into the cell every so often. If only she had her lightsaber with her...

She _knew _she could whip any ten––no, any _twenty––_of those bastards effortlessly...had the Force been with her.

It was one thing to lose a lightsaber––that genius piece of superpotential force, suspended by the polar opposites of magnetism to create a candent, plasmatic symbol of every Jedi's battle against the dark. But to lose the _Force..._

Due in no small part to that blasted disruptor that itched at her collarbone, the Force had faded in her. Not completely––completely being what her captors probably intended––but just enough that it had become a whisper beneath the surface of her conscious, like the wind through the dregs of a silenced world.

In the cloudy confines of her mind, there were only the faintest strands of the Force to latch onto. And with those thin ends she had managed to brush away a small portion of the dust that enveloped her foggy head. She'd struggled and swept aside more dust, drilled deeper, _deeper_––searching for the sparking electrical currents of microcircuitry that ringed her neck, disrupting her thoughts.

She figured that with the right touch of the Force and the right twist of her mind, she might just be able to reverse the polarity of the disruptor's logical integrations––

...and break herself free.

So far this proved to be the hardest feat in the galaxy, next to moving Corellia's mountains. _Especially_ since she felt like a drunken, dull-nerved idiot.

One hell of a long-shot. This feat was _far_ more than one _hell of a long-shot,_ doubtlessly. But by the gods, what other options did she _have?_ Sit around and _wait_ to be rescued?

No one had ever come to her rescue before, and she wasn't planning on finding out how _that_ worked. A Jedi does not settle.

Or, at least _she _didn't settle.

Hours to a millennium could have passed by the time the wall of her cell slid back, and light spilled in. She lifted her head, squinted––a figure stood in the hatchway.

Her eyes adjusted as the figure moved deeper into the cell.

"Well, how are we feeling?" came a cold, sly male voice. Human, most likely.

Words worked out of her parched throat. She felt a small spark of pride as she managed to nurse some ice into them. "I know how _you _will be feeling once your hide is tacked up on––"

A resonant chuckle stopped her short. "Lots of bark and little bite––I should've expected as much from a Republic officer."

She stopped silently, her blurry thoughts slowly pulling themselves together. So they still thought she was just an officer...

The stranger continued, "I figured you'd be a little more grateful, considering my men _saved_ you from those damned rahkghouls when your pod crashed in the Under City."

Rahkgouls... She strained at her mind, trying to loosen up some of that dust. She remembered, faintly, white leathery skin and spiny backs, and long, glistening fangs––

And she had lost her lightsaber, somewhere in the wreckage...

The stranger broke her thoughts. "Well, never mind that. Why don't you take a minute and give me a name here. I can't be here all day, and you can't slip into the Galactic slaving lines nameless."

Galactic _slaving lines? _Her heart flared.

_Oh, you bastard–– _

"Bastila..." The neural disruptor pushed the name out before she could bite it back.

The man chuckled humorlessly, "Bastila...a good, strong name. Catchy. It outta turn some heads."

Anger simmered in her chest, but it didn't boil too high––when she spoke, her voice was even. "And who are _you?"_

"Brejek Stern––head of the Black Vulkars."

"Well then, Brejek, if you honestly think you can sell me to some dry-rotted clot of slavers ––"

"_Sell _you?" Brejek laughed. Now Bastila's chest went rigid––she _hated _it when people interrupted her.

Brejek whistled: one quick, sharp note. A second figure––alien from the looks––emerged from hallway outside and carried something––a chair––into the cell. After the alien left, Brejek sat and leaned forward, elbows on his knees, chin on his hands. "Let me ask you something, Bastila. Do you have a dream?"

She blinked. _What? _Of course she had her dreams, her fantasies––and they were only her _own_.

"Occasionally." she said.

Brejek chuckled. "I see... Well, mine has been mine for_ years. _Do you want to know what it is?"

She didn't answer. It wasn't like she had much of a choice. Brejek continued, "I need control, Bastila. I need people who listen to _my_ command. Call it petty, but every time I see myself in dominance, I smile."

In the dark, Bastila rolled her eyes. _This man has mother issues. _

"I want control of the Lower City, and you may just be able to help me with that."

She didn't know much about Taris, but from her fragmented knowledge of such a world, a rough picture of the Lower City slewed into her struggling mind.

Her nose wrinkled––she couldn't say she shared Brejek's sentiments.

"You're dead wrong if you think I'd actually help scum like _you."_

"Well, _you _my darling, are the prettiest prize I've ever offered up as the Vulkar's share of winnings in the swoop championship––you _do _know what swoop is, don't you?"

Sonic speeds, high stakes, even higher crowds––swoop racing was the highlight of every lowlife, hutt-spawn's dream. Bastila nodded slowly.

Brejek continued, "Good. Well, I _know _for a fact that the smaller gangs are gonna come swarming like gruk crawlers to my banner––the _Vulkars_ banner––once they glimpse the dime you could get off a _Republic Officer..."_

He let the words sink in. Bastila felt her blood start to sizzle. Now she _really _wished she had her lightsaber with her––she willed herself to physically _attack_ Brejek, but the disruptor at her neck vaporized the thought to atoms and left her slumped against the cell wall.

"Well, I should say farewell, for now––I have some deals to roll out with the other gangs. I'll see you in three days time, Bastila. I hope you like swoop races."

Brejek slipped out of the cell, giving a mocking salute on his way out. The chair was retrieved. The door was shut.

And Bastila's focus went straight back to the disruptor.


	5. Chapter Two

**Note (Yup, another one) :**

**Okay guys, so here's the next chapter. I've gotta apologize-****_-again_****-if it was cut a little short. I haven't been able to write much lately-I'm trying to cram in a few of these chapters between studying, and I just really wanted to give you something to read. If anything is misspelled, just try to ignore it. Also, thank you for the comment Litbe! I saw it and you made my day, and I'm glad to hear you like the story so far! Keep reading, this chapter is for you (and anyone else who likes it).**

**Thanks for reading and following and enjoying, guys!**

* * *

**CHAPTER TWO**

The room was dead silent, but in his head were the sounds of an entire new world––a memory lost to him, buried in the cold recesses of his mind, growing old and faded and yellow...and yet, something he had never before known.

He supposed that was why it was only a dream.

What he saw behind closed eyelids was nothing of the ordinary, a surround-motion of vibrant blues and yellows––

Emerald green...

...and red.

From the far side of a chamber large enough to ground ten Incom snub-fighters––it appeared to be a control bridge of some sort––there stood a shadow. From the shadow's amorphous side there spawned an arm, and from that arm a fountain of crimson burst to life––

And directed itself at the Commander's heart...

A heavy thump from his own heart pried his eyes open, and for a long while Fallon stared silently at the ceiling, feeling lost. He sensed a nearby presence, but the voice that spoke startled him.

"Good to see you up instead of thrashing around in your sleep. You must have been having one hell of a nightmare."

Fallon blinked shape into his blurry vision. The face he spotted was familiar––craggy and shadowed and stubbled in red, atop full with thick, ruddy locks.

"I'm Carth," the man said, although Fallon already recalled who was. The Commander was sitting beside a workbench, the light of the tabletop casting shadows over his features. "I'm your Commander. I was with you in the escape pod, do you remember?"

Fallon nodded, working saliva back into his sapped gums. "I remember..." he said wearily, "I'm Fallon Cross––I guess I owe you my life..."

Carth waved him off, tilting back on the legs of his chair. "You've been slipping in and out of consciousness for a couple of days now. We're in an abandoned apartment on Taris. You were pretty banged up when the escape pod crashed, but luckily _I _wasn't seriously hurt. I was able to drag you away from the crash site in all the confusion, and I stumbled onto this place." he said, throwing his hands up. "By the time the Sith arrived on the scene, we were long gone."

Fallon sat up slowly in his bunk, letting the words sink in, letting the memory of the battle return. "So what's our situation?"

"Taris is under Sith control––their fleet is orbiting the planet. They've declared martial law and imposed a planetwide quarantine. But I've been in worse spots."

A thought drilled into Fallon's mind, harder than the sore ache of his head. He looked up at Carth. "What about Bastila? Did you find her?"

Carth shook his head grimly. "No, not yet. But from what I know, the Sith haven't been able to track her down yet, so she's either lying low...or she ran into trouble elsewhere. The Sith aren't the only bastards walking this world." he sighed, "Aside from that problem, there's no way the Republic can break anyone through the Sith blockade to help us."

Fallon felt his heart begin to cloud. "So we're in this alone?"

Carth shared his sentiment. "I'm afraid so..."

Fallon fell silent, thinking. "Bastila's young, but she seems strong and apparently she has a powerful command of the Force. If we survived the crash, then I'm willing to bet that she did, too." he said, flipping the covers off and swinging his legs over the side of the bunk. "I'd rather operate on the assumption that she survived."

Carth sighed again. "That's only gonna make her an even _bigger_ target right now. The Jedi rank themselves pretty high on the whole galactic scale of things, and they just don't blend into the crowds right. _Especially _not Bastila––by the gods, she must have half the Sith fleet looking for her by now..."

Fallon tilted his head questioningly, ignoring the miserable throb that ensued. "What do you mean?"

Carth's eyes widened. The starpilot looked at him in astonishment. "I saw that you hit your head, but by the gods, I didn't think it was _that bad."_

Fallon grimaced. Did _everyone_ have to bring that up?

"Bastila is no ordinary Jedi." Carth continued,"She has a rare gift the Jedi call Battle Meditation––it's a power that can influence entire _armies." _

Fallon's brows drew together, "How the hell does that work?"

Carth shrugged. "I'm not entirely sure, but the Force is an oddball thing. I've seen Bastila used Battle Meditation before..." the starpilot seemed to trail in his own thought, as if he was re-witnessing a memory firsthand. "...and I watched the enemy just _lose_ their will to fight. Their resolution just crumbled––and that's all it takes to tip the balance of any battle."

Fallon's frown didn't clear. "But she didn't use her meditation on the Spire."

"I'm sure she would have, but the attack just came from _nowhere..." _Carth sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose._ "_It all happened so fast; she hardly had the time to react––she barely got out alive, like us."

Carth ran a hand through his hair. "That's why Malak is after her––to try and turn her down the dark path and use her own powers against the galaxy."

Fallon blinked. _Oh... _

Silence.

"We're just a couple of common soldiers," he broke out at last, "The Sith won't pay attention to us while Bastila is on the move."

Carth nodded carefully, contemplating this information. "If we're careful, we can move about the planet without attracting notice: a luxury Bastila won't have.""

"But we'll have to move fast." Taking his own words, Fallon stood, gripping the joint of the wall to pull himself upright. He felt more torpid than he did feeble. "Any leads on where she might be?"

The air around Carth seemed to brighten...and then darken. "While you were out I did some scouting around. There are reports of a couple escape pods crashing down into the Undercity. That's probably a good place to start."

Fallon became silent. There were several good, decent places in the galaxy––from what he knew, the Undercity wasn't one of them. He looked at Carth indignantly.

"A _good_ place to start?"

**.::.**

_one day later..._

It disturbed Carth down to the chromosomal piths of his very cells, to be wearing a Sith uniform. He itched in the suit. It was bad enough to be wearing it, but the thought that it had been stripped from a _dead body..._

Just standing in the sleek carapace of armorplast, compressed in a tight black body-glove, tore the hinges off of mental-caskets and pried lids open, freeing old pains and letting them swarm his conscious.

As he stood motionless in the turbolift pod that screamed its way down to the gutters of Taris, his heart swam and his veins burned with the memory of the biggest pain the Sith had ever given him. Behind the black-tinted visor of his helmet, his eyes had misted––misted with the burning haze of Telos IV.

_Telos..._

He felt his brain start to smoke on embers that flickered only in his head, and his heart clouded with the same stratospheric smoke that had swallowed the light on that cold, ageless morning. He saw the burning global surface rise around him, as if it was _today_––not four years ago––that Telos had been broken into a smoldering wound of death.

In the dim, confined light of the turbolift, Carth saw instead a blazing sea of tears, felt the ashes falling from a black sky as they burned his cheeks and his arms and his hands, smelled the scorched hyper-decay of corrupted flesh, heard the _screams..._

...and then, in one infinite, banished moment from a stolen piece of time, he was snared in the soft, pale light of her dying blue eyes that made his universe _crack–– _

Carth's heart surged, every beat a tidal wave crashing against the rocky banks of an unfamiliar shore. Inside bled to look at now, and he felt the walls of the turbolift closing in on him...and he had nowhere to run. He felt himself starting to _slip..._

He squeezed his eyes shut.

Fallon's voice shattered the mental noise to silence. "I know it's disturbing to be wearing your enemy's shoes, Commander, but we can't just go skipping through the city wearing our _own_ uniforms."

Carth nearly snorted. By the _gods_, this kid was dumb––in his head, he was smart, sure; maybe even _intelligent_. But in his heart he was ignorant. Strong, but ignorant.

Carth sighed and breathed away Telos––not for the first time in four years––then nodded as if he could shake the embers out through his ears canals. "Don't tell me what I don't know." he snapped, almost more to himself than to Cross. He hated it when people stated the obvious. But still...

Something in the kid's words, or maybe in the kid's _choice _of words, seemed to sooth raw nerves.

This wasn't the first time Carth had noticed this curious trait of his comrade's: even now, he couldn't quite be sure whether it had been _just_ their uniforms that had got them past the guards at the turbolift alcove, hundreds of stories above them.

Something was different about Cross––maybe something other than his words–-that had convinced the guards to let them through.

Hell, if Carth hadn't known better, he'd say that the kid had those midi-Jedi-gene things _himself..._

He laughed silently at the thought, but it made him uneasy. He suddenly wished he had some different person's hands to place his life in.

_What happened the last time you trusted someone?_, he reminded himself, and instantly the picture of Telos––looking like a smoldering, planetary coal––seethed in the back of his mind...

The lift shuddered to a screeching halt that made Carth want to claw at his ears. He shuddered, and the rusted doors slowly retracted into the wall.

Fallon stood back, "You first, Commander."

Carth scowled. Outside the turbolift he reached up and undid the clasps on his helmet, and he wrenched the blasted thing off his head.

"Commander–-"

"I'm not wearing this thing anymore. It's a piece of frip and I gotta breath." he snapped, tucking the helmet under his arm. After brief hesitation, Fallon removed his own helmet.

The tunnels that spidered throughout the Lower City were vast––a skrogged network of transits, each end an entire room of scum so profound, that not even the expletives from a stock freighter full of chak-root-rendered, psychoactive Mandalorians could give justice.

Carth sighed. His father––Kale Onasi, also a military man––had always said it was better to start at the foot of a problem than to be thrown into the heart of it. Right now, Carth wasn't sure where he was.

The tunnels here stank of trouble, from the pallid water that dripped from racks of overhead pipes, to the flickering fluorescence that made the walls crawl with shadows, to the distant sounds of––

Gods, that was blaster fire. Carth's felt his expression fall grim.

Wonderful.

He heard footfalls behind him and jumped, only to find Fallon turning down the left corridor..._toward_ the sound of the firefight.

"Where the kriff are you going, soldier?"

Fallon stopped and turned, "Don't worry, I hear it, too." he said calmly, as if he could hear Carth's thoughts. "But where there's a fight, there's a cantina."

Carth frowned. "And?" _As if drinking can save the galaxy?_

"_And_ rumors spread like wildfire in those places. One person or another should know an earful about, say...an escape pod that crashed down below." Without another word, Fallon started walking again, strolling forward, almost floating on an aura of some quiet, inner ease.

_This guy's an oddball..._

But even so, Carth wordlessly gave him a modicum of credence––he was a calm, halcyon fellow for his age. A little off the teetering end of the balance bar, but over all centered.

Carth picked up his feet and set them moving again. They echoed behind him.

**.::.**


	6. Chapter Three

**Another Note! Yay, I'm back! :**

**Okay, guys, here's the next chapter! **

**There are a few things to apologize for here: one, yeah it's choppy again, but you know my excuses for this by now; two, the part with Gadon and the Hidden Beks will probably seem a little awkward, but I encountered a bit of trouble finding a way to write it with the direction I'd already taken the story; and three, while I was writing, I thought of something I hadn't when I played the game beforehand: how the hell did Mission get into the Undercity?**

**I'm not sure if she had the right security papers or anything from Gadon, but the Sith guard at the elevator was a bit of a you-know-what, and he was clearly fixed on not letting ANYONE pass without the proper security. So, when you get to the part where Gadon says that Mission and Big-Z are down in the Undercity, just try to ignore this little flaw with the story. If any of you guys have an answer to this problem, or if you can think of a way Mission made it past the security, then just let me know and I'll be happy to fix this chapter! All credit for such a change will go to you! :)**

**Also, thanks for the review sgtranglin! Glad to hear you're enjoying the story! This chapter is dedicated to you!**

* * *

**CHAPTER THREE**

The atmosphere in the cantina was heavy with smoke and alcohol, so thick with the stench of reptilian hormones that Mission could feel it clinging to her clothes. Some cheap knock-off band––not even Biths––played Corellian blues in the presence of numerous spacers, all of which whose eyes were hooked to the skimpy-clad twi'leks onstage.

Every time she came in here, Mission couldn't help but glance toward the stage––not because of the music or the dancers, but because of the spacers. She supposed it was some dumb nostalgic habit burned into her brain, to expect to see her brother sitting there among the spacers, dealing his hand at the pazaak tables and smoking on home-rolled cigarras. If he'd be found anywhere in the galaxy these days, it was definitely in a place like this––gambling was as big a love in twi'leks as dancing, and Griff had always struck a fine talent in the former.

Mission found herself scanning the faces of the nearby spacers. Griff wasn't among them.

He hadn't been for nigh on two years.

A sigh slipped from her as she returned to her drink, staring into its frothy green contents as if an answer of some sort had sank to the bottom. The bartender shot suspicious glances her way, and she ignored him. Yeah, she _was_ a lot younger than the ID card had said––and still did––but who was anyone else to judge? She'd been coming in here for fourteen years, ever since she was just barely walking and Griff would show up for the pazaak tournaments, so some old bartender wasn't exactly above a lowlife like herself.

Not much changed in a place like this.

Beside her, Zaalbar's heavy, shaggy paw landed on the bartop, and the Wookie coughed––a deep, guttural spasm that turned heads and raised frowns. A nearby Dug whimpered nervously and shifted in his seat before scampering to the one five over.

Mission rolled her eyes as Zaalbar coughed again. "Gods, eat the damn food, Big Z. Don't inhale it."

The Wookie glanced at her from the corner of his deep, dark eyes, his lips peeling back over fanged yellow points in a gruesome smile.

A voice from behind pulled that smile down to a low snarl...

"Little Bek girl gonna snap a muzzle on that flea bag?"

The words scraped through Basic in a scratchy Rodian accent. Mission's expression clouded, lekku twitching in annoyance against the flat of her skull.

_Freeva..._

She struck some nerve into her eyes––got hold of that infamous Griff Vao stare––and swiveled around in her seat. "Why don't you go sit on a rocket, chubba face?"

Freeva's leathery skin wrinkled around his convex black eyes, snout ridging in contempt. Behind him stood another Rodian in a Vulkar's uniform.

"Little Bek girl should not be in bar." Freeva hissed, "No place for little girl. If little girl was smart, she run 'way home _now."_

Mission felt her blood begin to seethe. "Who you callin' little girl, sleemo?"

Freeva's hand twitched at his side, drawing a fraction of Mission's attention––the Rodian wore a blaster strapped to his hip.

"Little girl need lesson in _manners..."_

A dark, baritone rumble heaved within Zaalbar's chest, ripping past the Wookie's teeth in a loose snarl. A silence fell over the cantina, and anticipation draped itself across the atmosphere.

The man who broke the silence pushed past the servo droid, dressed in a Sith uniform, his raven hair finger-combed slovenly against his scalp. Wilted shadows accentuated his tired bronze eyes. "There's a problem here?"

Freeva turned his glossy black eyes upon the Sith. "No––no problem."

The Sith lifted an eyebrow, glancing at Mission before surveying the two Rodians. "That so, fellas? I thought I might get around to ripping the legs off some insects." The man's hand fell to his blaster, fingers thrumming against the butt of the weapon, casually.

One of Freeva's eyes twitched left, to his fellow Rodian, then flicked back to the stranger. "We want no problem with Sith. Our trouble with Little Bek Girl––"

"Then you boys had better hop on out of here." Now the man spoke through his teeth, low and fierce.

For a moment, neither of the Vulkars moved––nor did the Sith, as if the air between them held them in place by magnetic effect. Then Freeva stirred and broke the stare-down. "Little Bek Girl lucky she has big friend," he hissed as he turned away, leaving a trail of movement through the still of the cantina. The second Rodian followed.

The Sith swept his eyes over the silent faces around them. "See anything you like?" he asked, a cool edge creeping onto his words. Suddenly silence seemed like a madman's ideal.

The cantina erupted back into noise.

Mission sat quietly, a little startled. A _Sith_ to the rescue?

This was a first.

"That outta nail your Vulkar problems." the man said, "At least for now."

"I could've sent those idiots yelping with their tails tucked––" Mission stopped her mouth when she remembered who she was talking to. "But thanks anyway." she said quickly.

"You showed a lot of guts dealing with those Vulkars, kid." This was a new voice––it belonged to another Sith, his features rugged and ruddy as opposed to his comrade's sharper, darker ones. "You got a name?"

"Mission Vao," she said. She glanced at Zaalbar––the Wookie seemed mildly interested in the conversation. "And this big Wookie is my best friend, Zaalbar."

"You can call me Fallon." the dark-haired man said, then looked at Zaalbar, "And nice to meet you––"

The Wookie loosed another growl, stopping Fallon dead in his tracks. Mission waved him off.

"Don't worry about Big Z," she said, "He wouldn't hurt a lightmoth." Then she looked back and forth between the two Sith. "You know, I don't see too many of you guys wander in here often. You're all usually out scouting the Undercity or dealing with the gangs."

Fallon nodded, ignoring the look his comrade shot at him. "I know a place where all the veins meet when I see one––and you seem to be the one that scoops up all the know-hows, right?"

Mission fought to suppress a grin. "You came to the right person."

**.::.**

The Commander had a rather comic expression, Fallon thought to himself as he watched Carth's veins bulge in his neck and his forehead.

"Gadon Thek?" The Commander said, again.

Fallon nodded, _again._ "Yes, Commander. You heard right."

"Are you serious?"

"Dead serious."

"Are you mad?"

"I can't be certain."

The Commander sighed, running a hand through his hair––this was a seemingly customary habit of his. "He's a gang leader, Cross. A _gang _leader."

"That's correct." Fallon replied, wondering how many times he had nodded within the past ten minutes, since they had parted with that street urchin, Vao, and her Wookie friend.

"I'm not turning to help from a _gang leader!"_

Fallon looked down at the helmet in his hands, wondering faintly what kind of factories made such an armor piece. "Don't yell, Commander. Voices carry in these tunnels."

"Did you _hear_ me, Cross?"

"I did hear you––you yelled." Then Fallon sighed, ignoring Carth's fierce stare. "I meant no offense, Commander...but Thek may be the only option we _have_. The regulations on who goes in and out of the Undercity are tighter down here, even for the Sith––just our uniforms won't get us through, and Mission says that Thek has access."

The Commander snorted. "You're taking word from a barhopping, fourteen year-old kid in the Tarisian lower-dregs."

Fallon shrugged. "She seemed honest."

"She was drinking at a barwith a fake ID."

"We're breaking the law in false uniform."

Carth scowled. Fallon continued, "Besides, who knows how long it would take us to find another way down? We don't know how much time is left before the Sith locate Shan." They rounded the corner. "And I intend to do whatever it takes to find her. Don't you?"

Carth didn't hesitate to reply. "Of course I do!" he blurted.

"Then please stop yelling."

**.::.**

Gadon Thek, leader of the Hidden Beks, sat quietly behind his desk, twiddling his dark thumbs, listening to his subordinate ramble on into a nervous wreck.

Surely, by this point she was teetering on a breakdown...

"_Listen _to me, Gadon. The security regulations are just falling to shambles! First with the prototype accelerator, now––"

"Zaerdra, please, calm down. _Stop." _he reassured her. "Nobody is going to try anything in the middle of our own base. It would be a suicide mission."

"You're too trusting, Gadon! Brejek and his Vulkars want you _dead."_

Gadon smiled gently,_ "Worse_ than dead, if they could."

Clearly, that did nothing to ease the twi'lek's nerves, but she hadn't always been this way––between the Sith conquest and the gang wars, Gadon had countless more enemies than he used to. Some people made less enemies as they grew old––Gadon Thek only seemed to meet more.

"You're taking the matter too lightly, Gadon."

His expression darkened, and he looked up at Zaerdra's whitish form––the jagged shrapnel of a swoop vane had been the last true sight his eyes had seen; now the optical sensors of his visual implants integrated the world into a simulacrum of static red and white.

He spoke to Zaerdra's fuzzy silhouette. "What, and you believe that Brejek will just plan an open assault this _close_ to the swoop race? Or are the Sith going to come marching straight in here? You tell me, Zaerdra."

Zaerdra opened her mouth to speak as the doors at the front entrance hissed and cycled open.

In stepped two forms, their contours matching Sith armor...

Zaerdra's blaster found her hand, "I really wish you hadn't said that..."

Gadon merely sat back, staring curiously at the two Sith soldiers. One of them had to be a damn-smooth talker, to get past Seyda at the entrance.

The taller of the two froze when he spotted the blaster Zaerdra had pointed at him; he leaned slowly to his shorter comrade and said, "Suggestions?"

"This was your idea."

"Fair enough." The taller man sighed, then raised his empty hands, palms outward, and said aloud, "I'm here to speak with Gadon Thek––"

"Not a move." Zaerdra growled.

The taller man stared nervously at Zaerdra's blaster for a moment, then spoke, "I'm sorry about the uniforms. They scare me, too, but it was the only way my friend and I could get into the Lower City."

The shorter fellow sagged his head, "Oh, convincing..." he muttered.

Ignoring his comrade, the tall man continued to speak. "My name is Fallon Cross; this man here is Carth Onasi––we need access into the Undercity, and Mission Vao said you could help us." His hands still raised, he added, "She also said that you'd probably react like this, so she told me to tell you that she thinks I'm a _candidate._ I hate the sound of that, but..." he shrugged. "this may be our only option."

Gadon studied the Sith for a moment longer. "Lower your weapon, Zaerdra."

He didn't have to see her true face to know that Zaerdra had turned an incredulous look on him. "Gadon––"

"They won't try anything here."

Zaerdra hesitated, her lekku wrapping themselves nervously around her shoulders. Then she cautiously lowered the blaster, finger still on the trigger.

"Thank you." the man called Cross said.

"You say you're no Sith?" Gadon began, eying them both.

"We're smugglers––"

Gadon's chuckle sheered their words dead. "You're Republic soldiers, aren't you?"

Cross gave what Gadon assumed was a _should we?_ look to his comrade––Onasi––who likely consented with a wordless, _what other choice do we have?_

Then Cross sighed; his head turned back to face Gadon, "Our ship was ambushed above the planet––we fled in an escape pod. I'm sure you've heard news of all the pods crashing; the hardcopy stands outside are flooded with sightings."

Gadon nodded, sitting upright and lacing his fingers together on the desktop. "We've all heard about the battle in the sky. There've been dozens of troops going down into the Undercity to scout out the remaining pods. I was wondering when a couple of survivors would show up around here." he said, then gestured to Zaerdra. "You'll have to forgive Zaerdra, but these times have us all on guard. It was bad enough when the Vulkars declared the gang wars against us, but now with the Sith..." he sighed, shaking his head. "I take it, if you two really are just common soldiers, that you're rounding up any survivors from the battle?"

Cross nodded, "That's right, sir."

Gadon whistled, "Well then, I'm afraid you won't find any luck down in the Undercity. From what I hear, the Sith have already obtained the survivors."

Gadon heard the young man's heart sink in his next words. "All of them?"

Gadon shook his head, "Not all. Word is Brejek and his Vulkars stripped those pods clean after they landed, and they scavenged one of your friends. She's an officer, I recall..." he said, closing his eyes as he racked his brain for her name. "Shan." he nodded slowly, tapping his head, "Her name is––"

"_Bastila _Shan?" the shorter man––Onasi––blurted.

The contours of a smile hatched on Cross's face, as did one on Gadon's. "Well," the gang leader said, "I think we've found a common ground."

"How do you mean...?"

Gadon glanced at Zaerdra, who still stood tense, before responding. "A common _enemy_, actually––Brejek Stern. He's got something youneed, as well as something weBeksneed." he said, "Normally the Vulkars would take a captured slave and sell them for a nice profit to Davik Kang, or to an off-world slaver. But a Republic officer is no ordinary catch... Brejek will be offering her up as prize in the swoop championship, in two days time. By offering her up as a prize he hopes to win the loyalty of the smaller gangs––with all their might combined, he could finally destroy me and my followers."

Seen even through Gadon's sensory environment, the smile visibly fell from the soldier's face. "Oh."

Gadon continued. "She's too valuable to leave with the Vulkar scum at their base. Brejek's probably got your Republic friend hidden away, somewhere safe until the swoop race. You'll never find her." Gadon sighed, "But like I said, Brejek has something we need, too. I may just be able to help you find your friend, if you'll be willing to help me. We both have much to gain here––and much to lose."

Onasi piped up before his comrade could, "What are you proposing?"

"The swoop race is for the Lower City gangs this year. I could sponsor you as a rider for the Hidden Beks. If you win the race, you'll win your friend's freedom... But first you'll have to do something for _me."_ Gadon spread his hands, "My mechanics have developed an accelerator for the swoop engine. A bike with an accelerator installed can beat any other swoop out there."

Then he sighed, "But the Vulkars stole the prototype from us. They plan to use it to guarantee a victory in this year's swoop race. I need you to break into their base and steal it back––that's what Mission meant, when she referred to you as a candidate."

Onasi's eye-contours blinked. Cross seemed to take the information with ease. "How would we get inside the base?"

Gadon smiled––it was always good to find someone who held that combination of boldness and patience towards danger. He would certainly do for the job.

"Getting inside the Vulkar base won't be easy." Gadon continued, "The front doors are locked tight. But I know someone who might be able to help get you in the back way––Mission Vao."

Cross nodded. "It seems she has a knack for crossing our path today."

Zaerdra blinked now. _"Mission?" _she exclaimed, "Gadon you can't be serious! She's just a kid––how is she supposed to help them with this?"

"Mission's explored every step of every back alley in the Lower City. Plus she knows the Undercity sewers better than anyone. If anyone can get them in the Vulkar base, it's her."

Cross folded his arms behind his back, standing like a traditional military man. "Would she still be in the cantina at this time?"

Gadon shook his head, "She and her Wookie friend Zaalbar are always looking to stir up a little excitement. Around now, they like to go exploring in the Undercity, despite the dangers." he said, "Your disguises might have worked on the Upper City guards, but the security down here is much tougher. You'll need the proper papers to get past them––luckily my gang ambushed one of the Sith patrols headed down to the Undercity. They never made it, and their security papers fell into my hands."

Gadon spread his hands again. "Since we're working together now, I suppose I could give the papers to you, as long as you hold up your end of the deal. Remember you won't be able to help your friend any other way."

Onasi stood taller, "We'll live up to our part...but how can we trust that you will, too?"

Gadon smiled and stood, "I'm a man of my word, soldier." he said, "You'll just have to learn to trust me on that."

**.::.**


	7. Chapter Four

**Okay guys, here's the next chapter! Yay! **

**Thank you for the reviews everyone! I'm so glad to hear you love the story! **

**I'm going to answer your questions real quick (if you didn't ask any of them, you can go ahead and read on! :) )**

**Okay, to start with, Der235: I would LOVE to write an Old Republic story, and I've thought about doing that for some time now. I've already got my characters for it and a basic plot, and I hope to flesh it out once I finish this story ( it still needs a little more work, but definitely a story I'd love to tell you guys ) **

**For Farwand123: I searched Stick Wars on Google and found it was actually kinda cool! Not sure how I'd write a story from it, but I can DEFINITELY try. :) (also, if you go to Docmanager on the site, you can upload a file. Then go to manage stories and upload that file, and that's how you publish something on here. Hope this helps!)**

**Also, thank you for your input Mastermind4892! I'm glad to hear you like the story, so this Chapter is dedicated to you!**

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**CHAPTER FOUR**

_one hour later..._

The piked struts sank into the mossy ground like rusty duralium teeth as the gate fell closed, shocking a heavy _THUD _through the shadows––shadows which no sunlight had ever touched.

Carth stared curiously down at the limp, leathery form in the dirt before him. He nudged it with the toe of his boot, rolling the perished creature onto its spiny back. A shudder raked his spine––the ghoul's lips were spread wide over a screen of cracked fangs, as if it had died grinning.

A cold, creeping sensation slithered into his gut as he recalled the gate-guard's advice:

_It's crawling with Rahkgouls out there. If you hear anything, shoot first, then ask questions..._

Carth shuddered. Thankfully, Fallon had shot first.

Fallon's thoughts mirrored his own. "This thing was _human?" _

Carth nodded distantly. He had trouble believing it, too––that this monster that had just sprang to sink its teeth into his skull had been a man once, with a heart and a life and maybe even a love, all of which had been torn away in one dooming, tainted bite of an immutable alien disease...

The clammy tangle of fear in Carth's gut pulled tighter. Oh, he had a bad feeling about this...

"It seems we have a little problem down here, Commander." Fallon said lightly, scanning their surroundings. The gate to the Undercity village loomed behind them. "Hundreds of crawling, slimy little problems, actually..."

A frown marred Carth's slick brow, and he watched the shadows around them move. Gods, these damn mutants were _everywhere. _

"I hear you..."

Beside him, Fallon sighed. "Alright," he said, rising as if no danger presented itself. "let's go find Vao."

At once, Fallon was walking, his blaster gripped in knuckles so tight that they stuck out like white clots in the darkness. Carth spared an almost loving glance at the gate behind them––at least in there they had been safe.

Then he followed his comrade, his eyes darting incessantly to the energy meter on his own blaster.

**.::.**

In silence so deep that Mission could still hear Zaalbar's roar echoing through the chambers of her heart, she ran, every footfall mirroring a beat that thumped heavily and painfully against her ribcage. She could feel the stare of the mutants nearby––watching her from deep shadows around the towering support struts which held the weight of the Lower City hundreds of stories above.

When her eyes found Fallon, she thought her knees would melt.

"Mission?"

His voice bled concern, bronze eyes flashing to Carth beside him. Mission halted and stood swaying a few seconds to get her breathing under control, her veins pounding with enough force to drive her heart into thermonuclear shock. "Mission, what's wrong? Are you hurt?"

"_Please_––" she choked, "You have to help me––not even the _Beks_ will help me! But I can't just _leave_ him, they'll sell him into _slavery,_ or-or..."

"Whoa, slow down, Mission. What's wrong?" Fallon said, kneeling down to her height and speaking with calm, deliberate care.

"It's Zaalbar!" she breathed, "He's in trouble. _Big_ trouble..."

Carth spoke now. "Take a deep breath and tell us what happened, Mission."

Mission raised her head, sucking in a hitch of air against the struggle in her chest. "Me-Me and Zaalbar were just wandering through the Undercity... You know, looking for stuff we could find, just kind of exploring! We do it all the time!"

Carth stood back and crossed his arms, looking around them nervously. "Well, with a Wookie at your side you figure you can handle a Rahkgoul attack..."

She ignored him. Words swelled out of her mouth again, "But this time they were waiting for us––Gamorrean slavers...we didn't even have a chance to _run." _Hot tears rose in her eyes. "Zaalbar––he threw himself at them and roared for me to run, and I-I just took off. I thought he'd be right _behind me––"_

She shook her head helplessly. Her heart stung, _some friend I am..._

For a time Fallon said nothing, clearly absorbing the information. "Do you know where they took him?" he asked finally, visibly calm.

"I don't know for sure, but those Gamorreans like to hang out in the sewers. The stink reminds them of home, I guess..."

Carth stepped forward, "Alright, Mission––if we help you get Zaalbar back, you'll help us get inside the Vulkar base."

Mission blinked through her swimming vision. "Vulkar base?" She frowned, hiccuping. "...you guys aren't Sith, are you?"

Fallon shook his head, "No, we're not. Brejek said you could help us."

She nodded, "It's a deal. As soon as we get Big Z back, I'll show you a way into that Vulkar base. There's another entrance somewhere in the sewers. Now come on, we have to find Zaalbar before they sell him to slavers or worse or––" she cut her speech there, spinning around on her heel before her trouble tried to swallow her whole.

**.::.**

On the first leg of their journey through the sewers, Carth tried to stifle his footfalls from ringing out along the walkway; Fallon and Mission seemed to share this sentiment, too, for a small while––heel had come down softly into toe every step of the way.

But no matter how lightly they stepped, danger still seemed to hear them.

So far Mission's wisdom on Gamorreans had proved true––they'd encountered three of the thick-snouted thugs so far, and each had proved resilient to most efforts, with tough, rugged hide that could send blades flipping the wrong way and powerful limbs that could cleave a body in two with one swift stroke of an axe.

Aside from the Gamorreans, there was the occasional horde of Rahkgouls that had wandered into the sewers from the outside...

Eventually Carth decided that walking lightly was not worth the effort. Their footsteps weren't the only sounds in the sewer system––the soft patter of scamp rats intermingled with moaning pipelines and distant, unintelligible_ clonks_ and _clanks_––and a sharp pungency that reminded Carth vaguely of a bantha pen breathed through the passages.

He snapped a glow-rod to life farther into the maze.

"So Mission," he said, blinking sweat from his vision. "Any ideas where Zaalbar might actually _be..._?"

He looked over his shoulder, and in the candent blue of the glow rod Mission's swollen eyes met his questioning stare. She opened her mouth to speak––

And a deep, resonant growl reverberated along the metal surfaces of the passage. Carth blinked. Then, with a swell of relief, he realized Mission hadn't made that animal noise herself.

It had come from someplace else, farther down the passageway.

Carth flicked his glow rod in the direction of the noise, cold tendrils of fear slipping around in his belly. Fallon stopped beside him, arms crossed. "I don't think that was my stomach." he said dryly.

A smile cracked on Mission's face, and her eyes beamed with a light that almost reminded Carth of his old youth. "That's Big Z!"

The group proceeded.

Carth moved with caution, glow rod resting on the scope of his blaster. About a minute down the passage, the gloom ahead was pierced by the pale light of another glow rod; Carth tucked his own light source away and pressed himself against the wall of the passage, crouching low as Fallon and Mission slipped into the shadows with him.

Fallon still gripped his weapon in a visible white deathgrip, meanwhile Mission retrieved her own blaster from its thigh-holster, slapping the power barrel open and checking the rounds. Carth fought a disapproving spurn that surfaced in his conscience––seeing a fourteen-year old child with a blaster in hand rattled every paternal, instinctive fiber inside him.

Gods, he would collapse from a stroke if he had _ever_ seen his own boy handle a weapon with that kind of ease––

A pang of grief hit him like a fist. For a moment, he let the feeling take him. Then his heart unclenched and he faded back into the present.

"Two of 'em." Fallon whispered, "I can take the fat one."

"Fal, they're _both_ huge." Mission hissed. Sometime during their trek, Mission had introduced the nickname 'Fal' to the soldier; Carth so far had evaded any such epithets.

"I meant the one on the left. _Our _left."

Carth opened his mouth to give some input. Before any words came out, though, Fallon sprinted headlong from their cover.

The Gamorreans halted, barely grasping the right ends of the situation––their axes swung just a millisecond too slow as Fallon whipped around, his movement leaving them startled and distracted. The first thug circled, his weapon heaving an arc of silver that would have lopped Fallon's head from his neck had he not dropped in time.

The axe swung over Fallon's head, clipping the ends of his hairs.

Carth sprang forward, blaster raised––the first shot burned through the Gamorrean's thick shoulder, while a second bolt whizzed past the thug's head and burst into disintegrated energy against the far wall. A curdling squeal rang out in the passageway as the Gamorrean stumbled in shock, arms swinging.

A third shot took the thug by the knees, which folded and bent forward with liquid ease.

His eyes still locked on the crippled, hog-faced form now draped across the floor, Carth hardly heard the heavy _whoosh_ of air behind him––

Something knocked into his legs so hard that he went down on his rump. Air whistled and breathed across his scalp as the axe swept overhead.

Fallon released his comrade's shins and rolled aside to dodge the axehead that cleaved the space between them, hitting the floor with enough force to bounce back on itself, spitting sparks as it scratched deep grooves in the gridiron. The second Gamorrean––who seemed to have unleashed a furious rampage in the wake of his comrade's collapse––threw a wild flurry of attacks Fallon's way.

Fallon jumped to his feet and rushed backward, his eyes darting around for his lost blaster.

Carth pulled himself upright and swept his own eyes over their surroundings. His heart physically_ leaped––_

Gods, where was Mission?_ Where was she?_

"Mission––"

A growl––like the one from earlier––filled the passageway. Carth's head snapped around and he spotted Mission; the blue-skinned twi'lek was fiddling with a panel beside a nearby hatchway, on the right, about twenty meters ahead.

Carth shouted to her as he ran to Fallon's aid. Fallon, who was dancing left and right and back in a shower sparks that rained down from the Gamorrean's near-hits and misses, didn't notice as the crippled Gamorrean behind him picked itself up and charged.

And hefted its axe high at his turned back––

A storm of horror swelled within Carth's chest and eyes, but before it passed to his lips another roar shook the passage. Something towering and heavy and bipedal plodded out from an open hatchway near Mission and stampeded the first Gamorrean.

The butt of the thug's axe managed to clip the back of Fallon's skull, solidly, before a limb on the silhouetted, bipedal giant struck the Gamorrean's own head––the thug's fingers went slack and the weapon was knocked spinning across the gridded metal walkway.

Startled, Carth fumbled with his blaster and took aim at the defenseless Gamorrean; one shot later the piggish form crumpled and was limp. Another shot from elsewhere––from Mission, probably––snapped into the second thug's thigh and wrenched it to the ground.

A third shot drilled the wild, writhing squeals. Silence followed.

Carth straightened on his shaky legs and faced the Wookie who now towered before him. His heart was racing so fast that he thought it might burn to ash in his ribcage.

"I, er..._thank_ you..." He nodded awkwardly.

Behind Zaalbar, who was shivering beneath his glossy shag coat, Fallon was slumped against the catwalk railing. He touched his scalp gingerly and winced, then looked up at the scraggly giant. "Same here. You're a sight for sore eyes, Zaalbar." he said, managing a crooked smile. Then he looked at Mission and jerked his head toward the wall-panel beside her, "One of those old-style manual locks?"

She nodded. "The sewers is the only place you'll find one of them on Taris..." she said absently, already rushing to Zaalbar. Carth couldn't help his smile when he watched the girl fling her arms around the shaggy beast.

Whatever the Wookie said next just sounded like a gurgling din, tantamount to the sonance of an overloaded garbage compactor, but it made Mission smile. "These are our new friends," she said, "Without them, I never could have got you out."

Zaalbar turned one huge eye on Fallon, who smiled crookedly as he pulled himself to his feet. "We were happy to help. Still are."

Zaalbar grumbled something, and while Carth waved it off––hoping it had been a compliment––Fallon seemed to understand perfectly. He frowned.

As did Fallon. And Mission.

"What did he say?" Carth asked, holstering his blaster.

"A lifedebt?" Mission said, her eyes wide as she stared upon Zaalbar incredulously. "You sure about that Big Z?"

Again, Zaalbar growled. Carth's brow furrowed, and he looked at Fallon. "A lifedebt...?"

Mission answered him first. "This is major..." She turned her eyes on he and Fallon, "A lifedebt is the most solemn vow a Wookie can make. It means he'll stay by your side for the rest of your life––wherever you go, whatever you do, Zaalbar will be with you."

She turned her eyes back to Zaalbar. "His people have been taken by slavers for decades now..." she shook her head sadly, "When the Gamorreans captured him, he thought he was doomed like the rest. You saved him."

Fallon cracked another smile, "I'm honored." he said, then his eyes flickered nervously, almost questioningly, to Mission, "I really don't know what else to say..."

Carth sighed. _Oh, this day just keeps getting better..._

**.::.**


	8. Chapter Five

**Alright guys, here we go! Next chapter is****_ here!_**** I'm sorry if it took a little while, and also if it's short, but I've been pretty busy. Anyway, hope you guys like it! Enjoy!**

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**CHAPTER FIVE**

Roughly six meters of thick hide, fitted with absurdly-long, powerful reptilian arms that ended in talons the size of Fallon himself; it's back hunched and ridged with spines, leading up to a grimacing maw of crusted fangs set beneath two fierce, milky eyes that burned wordlessly into Fallon's soul––

The colossal, crooked monstrosity lurched from the shadows. Broken chains dangled from manacles at either of its massive wrists.

From where he––along with Carth, Mission and Zaalbar––sat crouched at the mouth of the passage that opened up to the beast chamber, Fallon blinked at the sight of the rancor, then at the doors behind it.

_I guess the Vulkars aren't big on open-door policies,_ he thought quietly.

When he reiterated this thought to his comrades, all three of them turned to him with a bitter look.

He shrugged defensively. "Well, someone had to lighten the atmosphere..."

Carth rolled his eyes. "You know, Mission," he said dryly, "it actually _does_ help to warn someone when there's a goddamn _pet rancor_ in the vicinity."

She shook her head, lekku dangling. "I haven't been down here for ages––I figured the blasted thing would have just died by now."

"How old is he?" Fallon asked, eyes still hooked to the looming beast.

"Old."

"Old enough to have the eyesight of a shrunken, eighty year-old mynock?"

Mission weighed the odds, then nodded. "That sounds about right."

Carth looked at Fallon incredulously, and said with a short, exasperated laugh, "You can't actually think we'd be able to _slip_ past that monster."

Fallon's shoulders rose and fell, "Suggestions then..."

"Well," Mission said, craning her head a little out of the passage to get a better look at the chamber beyond, "I don't see the beast tamer anywhere. But he was always a little gutsy so..."

She made a chomping motion with both her hands.

"And––?" Carth asked, shaking his head in question.

Mission continued. "The wranglers always carried synthesized odors from the Vulkar labs, to attract the rancor away from the entrance––I've seen it firsthand a couple of times. But the lab is inside the base, down a few levels."

Fallon swept his eyes out into the chamber, "Where would that wrangler be _now?"_

"Probably over there," Mission nodded in one direction. Fallon turned his gaze down the path that was hers, reigning it to a stop on a dark, spiny heap in one corner––

Bodies.

He thought,_ Oh._

Carth followed their stare, as did Zaalbar. The Wookie uttered a soft growl––Carth just snorted. "Gods, you can't be serious..."

_Personally, Commander, I think the gods must be mad,_ Fallon thought, then let his head snap up when a new thought slewed inside. "I think I have an idea."

"You_ think..." _Carth echoed.

Fallon rose. "I _have_ an idea."

**.::.**

At his sides, his hands were shaking.

Fallon made the effort to hold himself above his fear, to make himself stronger than he truly felt. But nevertheless fear remained nestled inside, burning like a red haze that smoked from his spine to his nerve cord to his brain, until his focus caught fire and shriveled into a withered black scrap, and he thought his knees might give way to the rusted plates beneath him––

Despite the heavy, eye-watering reek that clung to the air, he blinked and held his eyes closed, forcing his heart back under control. When he reopened his vision, the corpses were still present, but he could feel the fear disintegrating to dust in his veins.

Blinking through the dizzying wave of relief, he returned to his work, letting his eyes sweep over the limp forms around him. Most of them had already decayed down to the ceramic-yellow joint of bone, but others were fresher, entire hunks of corrupted flesh ripped away, leaving sinewy fibers _dangling–– _

His stomach heaved and his head snapped around, toward the mouth of the chamber where his comrades were crouched, watching. Then he brought his sleeve to his face, carefully eying the rancor––Old Chomper, so Mission had named him––at the far end of the chamber before returning to the bodies.

Chomper's heavy breathing made the deck under Fallon's boots vibrate with power.

His hands slid over the corpses' clothes pockets––what was left of them––until his fingers wrapped around a small, dingy vial. He retrieved the object and examined it.

_Gods, this had better be it..._

He twisted around and waved the vial in the direction the passage; Mission peered out and gave him a thumbs up. Then Fallon returned to the bodies, much to his comrades' surprise.

What he uncovered next was certainly old, and certainly unstable. _Dangerously _unstable––he carefully examined the rusted frag grenade in his palm, his eyes flickering to Chomper, then back again. It was a wonder the rancor hadn't blown himself to atoms when he bit off a chunk from one of these bodies...

The bodies––clearly, one of these guys had assumed that a simple frag grenade would blast through the rancor's tough body-armor of ridged hide.

_And that's why they're dead, _Fallon thought mordantly, eyes tracing a hairline crack that spidered down one side the frag's serrated shell. He used his free hand to pull the stopper off the odor vial––

Not even five seconds later, Chomper stirred, his milky-white eyes pooling with a ravenous gleam that made Fallon's skin crawl. The beast took one step in his direction, then another. The deck shuddered underfoot, and Fallon tenderly set the grenade cushioned between two bodies, then tipped the vial and let the contents spill over it, nose wrinkling against the horrible, putrid smell as it stung at his eyes.

_How do you _like _this stuff? _he thought, glancing at Chomper, unfolding his legs and rising to his feet, creeping cautiously, _cautiously,_ backward––

Chomper roared.

The rancor charged. Fallon only continued to back slowly, despite that his legs were _screaming_ for him to run––the rancor was about as old as Mission had said: his eyes wouldn't spot Fallon while his nose was too busy being drawn elsewhere. All Fallon had to do was make it back to the passage, stand back, and watch the show...which was what he did as the rancor cautiously rounded the corpse pile, then dropped one massive jaw to the floor, scooping up the heap between its ragged jowls: swallowing flesh, bone, detonator and all––

It was a baffling sight, to see the prismatic burst of energy that erupted in Chomper's mouth, cascading through the crooked gaps in his fanged maw as the old rancor was cooked from the inside-out.

Chomper howled, swayed, _collapsed–– _

In the shuddering quake of the beast's fall, Fallon stumbled and gripped the passageway railing, as did his comrades. Zaalbar roared, Carth spewed profanities...as did Mission.

Fallon looked at the pile of smoking rancor for a moment, then dipped his head in a short, final nod. "May he rest in peace."

_"Pieces,_ you mean." Carth corrected.

**.::.**


	9. Chapter Six

**Okay, here we go! Next chapter is HERE! Sorry if this took a while to write and finally post, but at least it's here now! If it's a little rushed, and if you run into any spelling errors while reading, just try and ignore it. :)**

**Also, thank you bradwart for your comment! I'm glad to hear you like the story so far-this chapter is dedicated to you-and I really like your story in return! Keep up the good work! (and anybody who is reading this, go check out bradwart's story, too ) **

**Okay, so start reading. :)**

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CHAPTER SIX

Carth craned his neck, back pressed to the wall, and peered guardedly around the corner. The corridors that spidered throughout the complex were narrow and dim, topped with a squat ceiling that was tiled and flanked with cracked pipelines. The floors were uneven, manifested with rot and lumpy patches of stresscrete. Several times, he thought he detected hollow spaces beneath his boot-heels.

Overhead, the fluorescents winked on and out, pitching the walls with faultlines of light and shadow.

"So then you're a pilot for the Republic." Mission's voice was low, but it didn't mask the tension she fought to keep at bay.

Carth gave a silent sigh. _Gods, kids pick the worst times to start talking._ He shrugged, "I probably won't be a pilot after we get off this rock, after my superiors hear about the Endar Spire..."

Fallon spoke up behind them. "I wonder if the Senate has tried anything to get past the blockade to help us. News of the battle must have spread out of system by now."

Carth shook his head grimly, "I doubt it matters now."

Mission continued as if she hadn't heard a word of what was just said. "So you two have been all over the galaxy I bet, right?"

Carth sighed, then dipped his chin. "Right."

"Then tell me..." Mission said, "how would you rate Taris compared to other worlds you've seen?"

He frowned. What the hell kind of question was that? He flicked a brief glance over his shoulder, at the young twi'lek as her eyes silently nagged for some response.

"I'm gonna be honest here, Mission." he said, flat and grim, and fixed his stare on the corridor around them. "Taris rates pretty low: the prejudice, the rich spoiling themselves while the poor are crushed beneath them––not a pretty picture."

"Well, yeah...but that's only Sith occupation. Before that..." He could hear the frown in Mission's voice. "Than again, maybe Taris ain't as great as I thought, you know?"

Carth smiled thinly, "Trust me, Mission. There are a lot of worlds better than Taris, and there are worse, too. But Taris is no place for a kid to live on her own." He glanced at Zaalbar briefly, then returned his stare to Mission. "Even a kid who's got a Wookie to look out for her."

A fiery, dangerous light entered Mission's eyes, and her brows gathered. "Hey, I ain't no kid! And I look out for Zaalbar as much as he looks out for me! Big Z's my friend, not my babysitter." she said, "Geez, I ask a question and you give me a whole kriffing lecture."

_Oh_––

Carth halted and snapped around, "Don't you snap at me, missy! You want a lecture? How's this: only bratty little children fly off the handle because of a simple comment."

Fallon shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot, "Guys––"

"Hey, you ain't my father––so keep your lectures inside your withered old head, 'cause I don't need 'em!"

Carth turned his back to her, picking up his feet, setting them down harder than before. How could he let some spoiled kid dig under his skin, when there were just so much at _stake?_ "And I sure as hell don't need this, so drop it and get going."

**.::.**

With his back to the wall and to the comrades fussing behind him, Fallon stood silently, waiting for the turbolift doors to slide open on their rusty tracks.

They did.

He fixed a surveying glance around the chamber beyond, noting the architecture and the wide, open space it provided––from the beams that crosshatched along the ceiling from point A to point B, to the repulsorless vehicles and swoop bikes that sat disbanded in slipshod rows throughout the entire chamber.

They were in a garage of some sort.

_And a cluttered one, too_, so Fallon reflected, scanning the unkempt heaps of junk crammed into every which corner. He slipped cautiously through the turbolift doors, ears pricking at the distant sounds which echoed along the walls. Sounds of old pipes, sounds of creaking floors––

Voices.

Fallon shrank down behind a junk pile. They'd already encountered five Vulkars thus far––three desultory scouts, two guards at the turbolift alcove now stories above Fallon's head. The bodies had been stowed away, stashed in closets or veiled under heavy shadows, but Fallon didn't doubt if they'd been stumbled upon by now.

Hell, he didn't doubt if word of their breakthrough had reached the ears of Brejek himself...

The voices were unintelligible at this distance, multiplying in resonance as they spread from the mouth of a corridor at the port of the garage. One of them cracked into a laugh at one point. Then they subsided, and Fallon thought he heard the distant _clack_ of bootheels on metal, growing obscure the farther they went down the corridor.

Then there was silence.

The Commander was the first to move, and Fallon fell into step alongside Mission and Zaalbar. They picked their across the littered chamber, cautiously slinking in the direction of where the voices had been just moments ago. Carth pressed onward, moving swiftly into the corridor, casting nervous looks at the unfamiliar walls around them. Fallon moved with a similar pace, as did Mission––Zaalbar was silent as a ghost on his padded feet.

They came to an intersection. Almost instantly, the thought of the Commander starring in some kind of double-agent holovid came to mind as he swept a guarded stare out into the hall, blaster pressed firmly in both hands.

The Commander slipped into the left corridor; Fallon mirrored him on the right––

He stopped. Stopped in front of two flanking bay doors beside him.

He stopped because, in spite of the grasping-grim situation, a whispering, alien spark of reassurance drew a connection in his mind...

"This is it." he said, simply certain.

On the opposite side of the corridor the Commander halted. "It's _what?" _Annoyance from the earlier spat with Mission still flickered when he spoke.

"It's where we're supposed to go."

The Commander's eyes narrowed thoughtfully, suspiciously. "You're saying the prototype is in _there?"_

"That's right."

Mission exchanged looks with the Commander, who lifted an eyebrow. "And how the hell are you certain––"

"I just am." Fallon motioned to the doors. "It should be in there, _somewhere. _This is the deepest level in the base, but it isn't the deepest point in the level. You'd assume Brejek would stash the prototype somewhere else, farther into this place...just saying you were looking for it."

The Commander snorted. "That's ridiculous."

"So is wasting our time talking."

The Commander's mouth compressed. "Why this room then?"

"I've got a gut-feeling about it." Fallon said, although he knew it was much more than just a "gut-feeling".

What it was exactly, he couldn't quite pinpoint. But he did trust it.

The Commander studied him for a moment, contemplating. Then he shook his head. "You're out of your kriffing mind, kid..." he muttered, turning around. He continued walking the direction they'd been going.

Fallon glanced at Mission, who merely shrugged. Then he spared himself a shrug of his own and turned to the keypad beside the door.

"How do you know it's in there?"

"I don't." he said, keying slapdash numbers into the pad––

In almost symbiotic compliance, the doors zipped open. _Would you look at that, _he thought, mouth quirking in a smile as he offered Mission an '_I'm just lucky' _shrug. Then he balanced his blaster in one hand and strode inside.

**.::.**

The first lackey to pipe up was twi'lek, his vert-green flesh glistening in the overhead fluorescents that reflected off his polished armor. For one baffling moment, Mission thought she was staring at her brother––

Then she came to her senses. No, this was just one of the guys Griff used to hang around with. Kandon, so he was called. Kandon Ark.

"Looks like we have visitors––Sith..._?"_

Kandon spoke in his native tongue, and yet Fallon understood perfectly.

The soldier stood back in his uniform, nature calm, "Quite plausibly."

Kandon's brow drew together, and he turned to Mission. "Well, I see Griff's dropped your hide off down in these dregs. He's out of system, isn't he? Touching up his latest scheme?"

A hot sizzle ignited in Mission's blood––

Fallon spoke out. "Kandon, I'm sure you realize I'm no Sith, and I'm sure you didn't go through all the trouble acquiring this prototype, just so you could have it stolen back to Gadon." He spoke coolly, examining the butt of his blaster, flicking the energy meter with a fingernail. "...but I _really _don't think this is something worth getting bloodied over. It's like younglings fussing for a toy––wouldn't you agree?"

Beside Kandon stood a female of his own species. "Would you have me dispose of them?" she asked in a sly, almost eager tone. Her hand fell to the blaster strapped against her thigh.

"Bring it on, shutta––" Mission growled, cutting short only when another voice broke into the atmosphere, hissing in that scratchy Rodian accent...

"Ah, little Bek girl came for show. Much too young, I think..."

Mission didn't even bother turning to face Freeva: she'd lunge and strangle the goddamn Rodian if she did.

Kandon spoke next, to the female twi'lek at his side. "No––hold on a second." he said in a low voice, examining Fallon. Then he spoke louder, "I don't know whether you're admirable or dumb to infiltrate a base on an old coot's word...but it seems the Vulkars could use someone like you, no?"

Fallon merely smiled, "I think not, actually."

Kandon mock-chuckled, "Don't be a fool. Don't shackle yourself..." he said, eying Mission, "to a _losing_ team..."

Fallon appeared to absorb the thug's words. "Or don't shackle yourself to losing a team." He said, then nodded, "This really doesn't have to end in a fight..."

Freeva sneered and hissed. Beside Kandon, the female partner spoke. "We kill them now?"

He sighed, then nodded. "Yes, darling. Kill them." he said, "Kill them all."

**.::.**

"_Yes, darling. Kill them."_ Carth heard, _"Kill them all."_

A shock a panic storm-surged through his system, and he rushed headlong to where Fallon had stood just a minute ago––

Gods, he'd gone _inside_ the room...

Carth came to a skidding halt that nearly bucked him off his feet. He barely had time to perceive the barrage of blaster bolts that shot past his neck as he bent to unholster his blaster.

The bolts buried themselves sizzling into the wall behind him, and he yelped in delayed reaction.

Past the threshold, Fallon's "gut-feeling" room was a firestorm of splintering energy, throwing Carth's shadow against the corridor wall behind him like a scorched black ghost. Fallon himself was somewhere in the hailfire, meanwhile Mission and Zaalbar were huddled behind a stack of old shipping crates, Mission occasionally peering over the top and taking a shot or ten.

He finally spotted Fallon amid all the carnage––

Bolts were whizzing past the soldier's head, torso, legs; past the arm that was extended to a blaster slapping against his palm with the recoil of every shot, unleashing bolts as fast as his finger could spasm the trigger. A stray bolt from the fray, from Mission herself, loosed itself toward Fallon, and almost by instinct the soldier moved his head just a hair to the left––

The shot burned the air under his nose with centimeters to spare.

Carth blinked, then shook his head. _Some gut feeling, nerf-herder, _he thought as he slipped into cover beside Mission. "If you're going to actually _use_ a blaster, then watch your aim." he said firmly.

"Hey, are you saying I don't know how to––"

A coarse, harsh voice split through Basic: "Little Bek girl late for lesson!"

Carth twisted around to find a sneering Rodian swing back on its legs and lunge at Mission, its scaly hand graced with a wicked dagger forged of twisted black shrapnel that gleamed in the hailfire––

Carth hammered the trigger, watching bolt after bolt chase from the muzzle and blast into the side of the Rodian's skull. He realized it was the same blasted one from the cantina.

Beside him, Mission choked and blinked, eyes welded to the lifeless Rodian by the wall. "You just saved––" She stopped, tilting her head to one side, lekku twitching. For a moment, Carth didn't comprehend––then he, too, noticed.

The room had fallen into silence.

He rose slowly on his shaky legs, peering over the tops of the craters, sweeping his gaze out over the smoking ruin around him. He didn't see Fallon.

A noise came from behind one of the crates, and Carth froze, his knuckles tightening around his blaster. He nodded to Mission and crept out from cover––

He felt himself jump in his skin as a shadow morphed into existence, the light limning the edges of its dragon-like features and bouncing off the surface of a cylindrical, grooved piece of gleaming machinery––

That was cradled in Fallon's hands.

Strangely and suddenly unsure of himself, Carth spewed relief, as did Mission behind him. Zaalbar growled softly.

Fallon merely stood there among the bodies that now littered the floor. He ran his fingers along what he had clearly already assumed was the prototype accelerator.

The soldier looked up at Carth, his face hatching a crooked, rakish grin. "Just a gut feeling." he said.

**.::.**


	10. Chapter Seven

**Alright, here we go guys! **

**This chapter is gonna be a little bit rushed, but I wasn't sure how to pick up on the story after the last chapter ended. Not only this, but the swoop race proved difficult to set the right mood in (yeah, that part took me about an hour of typing, downing an energy drink and listening to some hardcore rock) so I hope this works out okay!**

**Another thing: the reviews I receive for the story are delayed or something sometimes, so if I don't respond, please don't take it the wrong way. Just know the chapter is dedicated to you (because this seems to be my little tradition now).**

**And also, I just wanna thank you guys for sticking with me this far - Taris should be over within these next few chapters, so just hang in there for me. :) **

**Okay, now: READY, SET...READ!**

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__**CHAPTER SEVEN**

_one day later..._

In the cockpit, Fallon sat alone––there was only room enough for one person.

_For one person who's about to die,_ _maybe_, he thought grimly, trying to steady his heart and familiarize himself to the feel of the controls around him. Gods, all the speed, all the_ power, _that would be shortly at his merely-human fingertips...

Winning the race felt like one in a million already, but actually _surviving–– _

He pictured the swoop bike splintering into a fiery wash of superheated rocket fuel––saw the metal struts around him collapse into fire, swallowing his life and maybe even the fate of the galaxy that hung on his shoulders like an invisible mass far beyond his mortal strength––and a tremble began in his hands, threatening to diffuse into full-blown shakes. He felt faint.

He closed his eyes. Behind them he saw the Commander. Not Onasi, but Shan––back where she was waiting just outside the reach of the racer pits, beyond the slick curves of the raceway, her eyes fluttering against her delicate face, shackled, _caged––_

Just the thought of the bars that imprisoned her made Fallon's heart burst into a starfire of rage, something he knew wouldn't make his mind any clearer now, but something he couldn't quite control, either.

He sighed shakily. _At least she's still alive..._

The cockpit speakers crackled. Even through all the static he could hear a grim frown in the Commander's––_Carth's_–– voice. _"I've got your time to beat––please tell me they at least _showed_ you the ropes to that scrap-machine."_

Fallon smiled tightly and fixed his eyes on the raceway that curved out in front of him. "Yeah, they covered most of the bases. I've got an idea of what I'm doing here––" _Hopefully. _"I just gotta be careful and switch the gears when the engines get too hot––the prototype..."

He shook his head to himself as Gadon Thek's words wound on replay in his head:

_The accelerator isn't stable; there's a good chance it could explode during the race..._

Fallon's smile thinned. He supposed it was to be expected, for Gadon to let _him_ face the dangers, rather than risk one of his own racers. But still...

The picture of the swoop walls around him exploding lapsed through his mind.

"_This is ridiculous."_

Fallon sighed. _Got that right, Commander. _"It's our best option, unless you can break Shan free and escape, what with all these gangs around..." He swept his eyes toward the stadium, over the hundreds of alien faces who watched, anticipating.

The comm speakers did not reciprocate.

"I didn't think so." Fallon returned to the controls, hesitantly placing his hands on the yokes. "So what's the time to beat, Commander?"

"_...thirty-two point ten seconds."_

Fallon almost choked. _Seconds––_

"_Seconds?" _he echoed, a little louder than intended.

"_That's correct."_

Before he could reply, the aerial displays at the tunnel ceiling flashed a yellow so harsh Fallon grimaced. His mouth compressed to a grim straight line.

"Wish me luck, Commander." he said, grasping the handles on the canopy overhead and dragging it shut, watching condensation vaporize as the seals pressed together with a tight hiss. He slipped his arms through the harnesses ganged into his seat and settled his hands on the controls again, trying to force down the trembling that racked his body and burned his nerves.

He couldn't turn back––he was committed now. He could do this. He could _win _this...

He had to.

He glanced through curve of the canopy, toward the pits. _Commander Shan, I'm no Jedi, but this would be a wonderful time to wake yourself up..._

**.::.**

What happened on the track was a dream.

A dream of power. A dream of bliss.

A dream where, purely, no worry ran in his veins, where no living panic sprang for him behind every corner.

Where the fears that chewed away at his heart in the night were vaporized to dust and blown aft, and blasted away in the wash of his sublights faster than the eye could follow.

Here there was only thrill.

All at once, for once, Fallon felt as one.

He eased a little more power into the thrusters, banking the craft that had become his body down a narrow left-hand curve. He didn't hear the seconds that must have been ticking away inside his head. He didn't feel the weight of some invisible, impossible destiny crushing the bones between his shoulders, didn't see the dance of emerald fire against a burning red hell––those were caught in the speed draft, too.

He only felt the present. Only heard the power-washed roar of the engines and the deep hum of whiplashing repulsors, only felt the vehicle vibrating in a song of life and power that melted into his skin and scraped against his bones as he shot past the raceway obstacles, flying, the speed of light itself––

A slow grin hatched on his face as he leaned into a curve; he ramped up the power even further.

One swift shove of the thruster bars straightened the craft, and he accelerated, his hands riding the yokes, his heart beating with the pulses of fissioned life, talking to mysterious whispers in the stream-fusion compounds that rode the wind behind him. It was as if the roaring engines themselves held his mind and his soul together in binders of pure, plasma-integrated energy.

Again the scream of wind over the aerodynamics of the bike's exterior grooves became only sweet, pure music, speaking to him through sounds and feelings––

More than once, he swore he could sense––no, _see_––every curve, every obstacle, of the raceway before he rocketed around it.

The past and the future were caught behind him, and he was living for the moment.

_Only a dream,_ he reminded himself in some corner of his mind that he was disgusted with, at least for the moment.

_Only a dream..._

**.::.**

_...in the timeless, lightless ocean, the dragon whispered to her..._

Somewhere outside the murky depths that fogged her mind like frozen air against a translucent canopy, the dragon was stirring––

No...

No, the dragon was _near. _He was close _by._

Too close for comfort.

Startled, she pressed herself to move faster, reaching into the Force while her mind's eye followed the circuitry paths in the disruptor clasped around her neck. From what little strand of the Force she'd grasped, she managed to shed a hundred layers of boundaries that had enveloped her conscious––and from that one small strand, she'd expanded to the billions of tiny cilia-like fibers of the Force that would brush power through her system for infinity and on.

Now it was just her mind that slowed her, sluggish and torpid, dulling her senses until they were ugly even to herself.

As she her mind morphed the fog into Force-hands that dragged along microcircuitry panels, some part of her returned to the present, outside the murk, where her ears pricked nervously––

_Applause...?_

She recalled, vaguely, something about a swoop race...

A voice breached the mind's lightless ocean, pulsing from high pitches to low, as if amplified from ruined speakers deep underwater. She could just _hardly _make out––

"_Put your hands together and show your... For one of the most daring riders this track has ever..." _

What the voice announced next was something about a premier rider and a great gory––no, _glory_––brought to some gang. Despite the urgency of her predicament, her heart sank. _Oh, this is gonna be bad..._

And then the voice mentioned one name, in particular, that caused her heart to seethe and her brain to smoke on embers she'd been saving up for a long, incoherent but _certainly _long, time.

Brejek.

Her fingers twitched at her side, just a microscopic movement, and then curled into fists. Oh, this would _definitely _end badly. _Very _badly, indeed...

"_People––hear me!"_

Oh, kriff.

"_...before I present the so-called champion of the Beks with their prize..."_

...something about cheating? She frowned: what in the thousand hells was a _prototype accelerator?_

A new voice, this one polished and resonantly basso, sent shivers coiling down into the base of her spine and whispers knocking through the chambers of her heart. Her frown deepened when she heard Brejek's next words––

"_...because of this Hidden Bek treachery, I'm withdrawing the Vulkar's share of the victory prize!"_

Belatedly, some fuzzy component of her mind clicked into a receptor, and the culmination that _she_ was the prize flooded through––

_Oh,_ kriff_ no._

She drilled deeper into the Force with so much pressure she thought she might scream, her mental search-vehicle roaring over the microcircuitry that was reflected onto the stormy surface of her brain, invading the disruptor's computerized recesses beneath its scuffed chrome shell––

And then she spotted it, gleaming likes a thousand jewels strewn under a Hurikane sunset. She reigned herself to a halt and swung down toward one singular logic organ of silicon transputers that would reverse the blasted mechanism _entirely–– _

With the right twist of her mind, the disruptor popped open. She barely heard it clatter to the floor as a reserved fist of the Force erupted through her fingertips and sent the bars before her flying off their hinges. Words poured from her lips:

"_I _might have something to say about that, Brejek."

**.::.**


	11. Chapter Eight

**Here we go, guys! Next chapter is ****_here!_**

**For this one, there were a few obstacles that I wasn't sure how to handle. I was able to work with most of them, but a couple I just decided to break through headfirst instead of going around them- such as the fact that Brejek salvaged Bastila's lightsaber from the escape-pod crash sight, and he couldn't put two-and-two together to realize, "Oh, frig, this ain't no ordinary officer..." ) If anything is misspelled, just try to ignore it.**

**There was also some difficulty writing the parts with Revan and Bastila, but I tried my best not to make it read too awkwardly. Hope it works out all right.**

**And one more thing: JohnnyHardCastle, thank you so much for the review! You made my day! This chapter is dedicated to you!**

* * *

**CHAPTER EIGHT**

"What? Impossible! You were restrained by a neural _disruptor––"_

She paid no heed to the gang leader's words; her vision had tunneled to a clip on his belt, where hung a narrow, leather-wrapped steel handgrip that, on the right ply of her mind, flipped through the air and smacked solidly into her open palm.

"You underestimate the strength of a Jedi's mind, Brejek––" Emerald fire burst from her fist. "...a mistake you won't live to regret."

A dangerous light kindled in Brejek's eyes, cold and raw. His face twitched. "Vulkars––to me! Kill the Swoop rider! Kill this woman!" he shouted, "Blast it, kill them _all!"_

She couldn't contain herself any longer. She sprang, lightsaber angling Brejek's attention from the boot heel that struck his face squarely and smacked him to the floor. Before the gang leader could find even a modicum of reaction time, Bastila flipped through the air and reached into the Force to right herself, landing cat-footed behind him––

Green plasma burned into the soft flesh of his jaw, emitter-deep, and sprayed out the crown of his skull.

As her blade shrank from the smoking hole burned neatly into Brejek's head, and as his body folded forward and fell limp to the floor, Bastila blinked.

_I did that..._

Her stomach tightened, and she felt nauseous. She shut her eyes and forced her breathing to slow, only to find that her heart didn't ache at the sight of the body that lay despondently before her.

Only when the dragon whispered did her mind reverse back into reality, the rest of her feeling hollow. She snapped her head around. Free of the disruptor, her waking conscious finally registered something it hadn't been able to before––

The dragon was alive...

Her heart tripped, and she scanned the space around her, sweeping the jumble of bodies that now littered the floor. Her eyes froze on one object that stood out against the carnage––one shadow that loomed just outside the field of glaring overheads, smoke coiling from a snout that morphed into a blaster muzzle as the shadow stepped into the glare.

The man who came to stand before her brought himself up to full height, locks of raven hair falling to his face as he pulled a pitted racing helmet off his head. Behind the helmet, two deep bronze chasms seemed to swallow the light limning the edges around his tall, lean figure––

_Oh, Force..._

"You're alive..."

Revan blinked. "I'm sorry, Commander?"

Shaken, she disengaged and looked around them, detaching from the light and slipping into the shadows that pooled in ever corner of the racer pit. "You're one of the soldiers with the Republic fleet." she said, barely grasping the situation as her mind rejoined with the nuisance of securing his former identity. She quickly added, "––aren't you?"

The dragon's face split in a crooked grin. "Posted under your command, in fact." it––_he––_said through his smile. "My name's Fallon Cross. I'm here to save you."

_Save me–– _

Her frame flash-froze against the shadows. A simmer ignited just beneath the flesh, and drew her face tight. _"Save_ me––?"

Revan's smile faltered, just a bit. He swiftly joined her in the shadows. "Winning the race was the only way to free you."

A low thunder steamrolled into her heart, crushing all puzzlement to dust as anger grilled deep beneath her breastbone. "In case you hadn't noticed, I managed to free _myself_––and _without_ your help."

For a moment, Revan said nothing. Then an amused smile flickered over his features, and the storm in Bastila's veins climbed a couple degrees.

He said, "Really?"

"Really." Her fingers curled tighter around the handgrip of her lightsaber. "And it's more accurate to say that _I_ saved _you."_

"Not from where I'm standing."

She blinked at the calm-natured emphasis that echoed through his basso voice. Why was he acting so calm? Did he actually think this was _funny? _

Her grey eyes met squarely the bronze chasms before her. "Brejek and his Vulkars would have left you for dead if I hadn't stepped into the fight. You're _lucky_ I was here to get you out of this mess."

Revan casually backed off a step, tucking his helmet under one arm as he surveyed the tangle of bodies that lie strewn outside the shadow's edge. Then he stopped, staring frankly at one lone, raveled physique among the cauterized mess that had once been Brejek.

"That's an interesting sentiment, Commander..."

Her blood boiled higher. She didn't realize her mouth was already hanging open until she started to speak––

A different voice spoke for her, neither Revan's nor one she recognized.

"Holy kriff, the crowd's gone haywire!"

Bastila turned to see a twi'lek child, probably no older than fifteen...gods, maybe even _younger_––what in hell was she doing in a place like _this?_

The young twi'lek looked at Revan, then Bastila. "This is her?"

Revan nodded, still smiling. "Where's Carth?"

_Carth–– _

Bastila blinked. She blinked again. "Carth Onasi is alive?"

Again, Revan nodded, "Come on, we've gotta get out of this place." he said, moving through the shadow as if he belonged there. "Between the three of us, I'm sure we can figure out some way off this planet before the Sith realize we're here."

**.::.**

She pressed her fingers to her temples, circling them slowly. She tried to center herself, despite the conflicting energy that clashed throughout the apartment. "So if you don't have a plan to get _off _of Taris, then what in_ hell_ have you been doing this _entire time?"_

From the corner of her vision she watched Revan sink lower in his seat. At the opposite end of the table, Carth growled through his teeth––

"We were trying to find _you."_

_No, really, _she thought. "Well, as far as rescues go, this isn't the greatest example."

Carth snapped up out of his seat and began to pace, then to stalk. A soft growl came from the Wookie who sat near the workbench, and Carth shook his head as if in understanding.

Bastila sighed and leaned back in her own seat, "I'm sorry." she forced out, then continued "...now that I'm back in charge of this mission, I'm just hoping our escape will go more smoothly than when you...'_rescued' _me." She shot a look Revan's way and saw the muscles in his jaw bulge.

Carth snorted, still pacing. At the other end of the room, the twi'lek girl––Mission––had drifted asleep slumped upright on one of the bunks.

"I know you're new at this, Bastila." Carth said, "But a leader doesn't _berate _her troops just because things aren't going as planned. Don't let your ego get in the way of the real issues here."

An angry spark, small but nonetheless present, struck before the Force could soothe it. _You think I _wanted _this responsibility?_

She restrained herself from looking at Revan. "That hardly strikes me as a way of addressing your commanding officer, Carth. I'm a member of the Jedi Order, and this mission was given to_ me––deliberately."_

Beside her, Revan shifted in his seat. "Can I ask what this mission was to begin with?"

Bastila frowned, "What?"

"You heard me."

Bastila opened her mouth to speak, then quickly closed it, then opened it again. "The mission...was under direct authority of the Council, and I'm not at liberty to say."

A frown touched the former Dark Lord's brow, but he said nothing.

Silence ensued.

The silence rooted itself deeper, until Bastila could feel the electrical currents in wiring behind the drywall at her back. To her slight relief, Revan picked up the conversation on a different note than before.

"Then dwelling on it isn't helping. Like you Jedi say, it stops you from looking to the future...or something along that line."

She dipped her head. "You're right." she said, struggling to recover her composure. "Carth, I...apologize. This is just a difficult time for me. We can't get hung up on who's in charge if we want to get off this rock."

From where he stood in the center of the room, the starpilot nodded grudgingly. He crossed the floor and sank back into his seat, murmuring an apology.

"We'll need some help getting off Taris." Revan said, his eyes visibly tracing the grooves in the tabletop.

Carth nodded grimly, "The locales can help us out. We should probably start asking around in the cantinas." he said, then jerked his chin absently over his shoulder, toward Mission. "That kid ought to know her way around those places."

Bastila felt compelled to state the risks of such a maneuver, but she couldn't think of a better strategy. At least not now. Reluctantly, she agreed. "It's settled then." she said. "First thing tomorrow morning, we'll move out."

**.::.**

_two days later..._

The night was growing cold.

Far overhead, the stars were near invisible beyond the halo of city light––a rippling sheen that spanned entire kilometers of the immense planetary curve, sprawling with ecumenopolis.

A sharp chill scoured the endless nightscape, seeping through the tight body-glove of the Sith uniform and chewing into Bastila's bones, frosting her veins. She felt uneasy, and not just because she was, literally, wearing the shoes of an enemy who had threatened her kind's very existence since near the dawn of the galaxy. Nor was it the fact that she could feel the Dark Lord's presence crawling in darkness somewhere among the fleet that orbited Taris, miles above the planet's cyclonic winds.

No, what bothered her tonight was the recognition that her deepest, darkest fear walked within sight once more, and that his presence was, in reality, more soothing––and near _dangerously_ pacifying––than it should have been.

She glanced at the former Sith who walked alongside her, emanating a calm, palliative proximity as if he was a siphon of inner peace. Such a nature simply didn't feel right coming from a monster who had watched entire planets burn at his command, who had slaughtered countless billions of civilian beings––

He said, "You want to ask me something."

It wasn't a question. Bastila's brows drew together, "How did you––?"

"I can feel you staring at me."

She heard the smile in his voice, and forced her annoyance back down below the surface of her conscious. "I...would actually like to know what happened after you crashed on Taris."

"Before we rescued you, you mean? Well, we were looking for you."

Her mouth compressed. "I _realize_ that." she growled, "But there had to be more to it than a simple search. I doubt there were flashing signs pointing you in my direction; yet somehow you found me." She dipped her head and continued, "You also avoided detection of the Sith, discovered I was a Vulkar prisoner, gained sponsorship for the race and became the Taris swoop champion––that's quite a resume."

Revan glanced over his shoulder before speaking, "I don't know whether to say I'm talented or I had a lot of help."

"Even so, you were the catalyst for these events." she said, "When you were chosen to be placed under my command, I doubt any of us expected this much from you."

Revan shrugged, armor plates creaking. "A Jedi could have done these things."

She nodded, slowly, finding herself backed into a corner. She said carefully, "...but only by drawing heavily upon the Force."

His silence stated the puzzlement she felt welling inside him, then the curiosity. "You're trying to say that...I can use magic––"

"The_ Force."_

"You're saying I can control the Force."

She hesitated, disturbed with how he'd used the word _control. _Of course he could _use_ the Force––gods, his presence practically sang with enough power to crack the planet.

"Perhaps." she said. There was no getting out of this now––he'd discover his abilities sooner or later, just as he would stumble upon the biggest revelation of them all...someday. "But the Force works through us all to some degree or another. There are some individuals outside the Order who we consider 'Force Sensitives'."

"And you think I'm one?"

She bit her lip––he was veering onto dangerous lines. "No, I think the Force has been working _through _you." she said quickly, "There's no other explanation for your survival, though I'm not certain what to make of _any_ of this right now..."

Revan fell silent, contemplating. She could feel his thoughts chasing each other through his mind before he spoke again. "Then why didn't you sense this when you recruited me?"

Her face fell grim. "I––_I_ didn't recruit you. Someone else in the fleet did that. And like I said, the Force is complicated: even with all my training, I don't fully understand it yet."

They fell silent to the sound of city life that sang through the night air, and Bastila focused on the currents of living energy that pulsed and swirled around her. It had been two days since her rescue––since her _escape_––and they'd found no leads, grasped no ideas, no plans had been made, no help had been reached––

Until today.

Bastila tensed. She thought of the ithorien messenger who had arrived on their threshold, requesting Fallon Cross to speak with a stranger called Canderous Ordo, who––from what Bastila had overheard––was a Mandalorian working for the crime lord, Davik Kang.

It was stupid coming even this far...but gods, what other choice did they _have? _Even Carth had approved, even going as far as to send Revan along instead of himself, saying something about the soldier being a smooth-talker.

With a wordless sigh, she recoiled from her thoughts and reverted back into the present. What Revan said next cracked her composure to its core.

"I dreamed about you."

She blinked, startled."What––?"

"I've been having dreams about you." he said again, "About you fighting Revan, I guess."

Bastila's heart clenched as if an invisible hand had gripped it. He was _what? _

"I...that's..." She shook her head. "When did they start?"

"On the Endar Spire, actually." His voice became distant. "It's the earliest thing I remember from that day, before I hit my head..."

_Hit your head––_

Oh, that was rich.

"Well..." Her words trailed off into silence. _Well––what? How do you get out of this one?_

"I... Your sensitivity with the Force may just be feeding off my own abilities––since our paths are connected." she said past her wheezing heart. "It's not unheard of."

He nodded, absorbing the information carefully. "Is it true you killed Revan?"

She chewed nervously on the inside of her cheek as she thought of what to say. He'd be able to sense it if she lied. "It's true that I led the strike team that boarded Revan's ship." she said carefully, then added hesitantly, "...but I didn't kill him."

She watched his head tilted curiously to one side. "Then who did?"

"Our mission was to capture Revan, if possible." she said, "Malak turned on his _own_ master, firing upon Revan's ship while we were still on board it. He intended to kill both us _and_ Revan––luckily we escaped the vessel as it exploded." Behind her helmet's visor, her eyes stung, and a pock of frustration for herself resurfaced.

"You want me to drop the subject."

This, too, was no question. She looked at him curiously, the corners of her mouth fighting against a small smile, despite the trouble he had dawned on her. "It's not my place to say what this whole––" She waved her hands, "..._trouble_ with your head––your _dreams_––is. I'd be overstepping my authority."

He cocked his head. "So this is a matter best left to the Council, then?"

Her heart finally unclenched and sank. "I'm sure they could give you a more definitive answer."

**.::.**


	12. Chapter Nine

**All right, here we go! Next chapter is here! Sorry if this took a few days to finally get up here (as usual), but I think you guys are gonna like it. :) If anything is misspelled, just try to ignore it. **

**Okay, so stranglin, since you were the last to review this chapter is dedicated to you! Thanks again! **

**Enjoy!**

* * *

**CHAPTER NINE**

In a pissant cantina just outside the planet's merchant quarter, Canderous didn't spot any new faces. Places like these cradled all the seedier roots of society––smugglers to thugs; black-marketeers and bounty hunters to stim dealers––nursing them to some level of health or death with free-roaming spice and alcohol and, of course, the dancers.

But now there was a quarantine on the planet, and _by_ the_ gods,_ that was as bad as trapping a nest of malnourished, rattleboned dathomites in a jar and sealing the lid down tight––

They'd snap and eat themselves before the light of freedom ever breached through.

From where he sat in a shady corner of the cantina, within clear view of the dancers, Canderous heaved a sigh. That was just the meat-and-bone to _any _form of nature––turn on those around you before the realenemy shows his fist.

In his head, the memory of a dark-skinned Mando––Jagi––flashed to life, bringing with it the lost dozens of faces who, although dead, each whispered softly Canderous' death in the heart of night. Guilt hit him like an iron fist; he hardly so much as shuddered, a microscopic flinch that twitched down his meaty arms, rippling the frothy contents of the drink in hand.

He raised his glass in salute to the empty seat before him, then took one long swig and grimaced as the acidic taste boiled along his teeth and burned his tongue, trickling down his throat. He barely noticed the two Sith officers who strolled in through the back entrance. Light was reflected as the taller of the two officers removed his helmet, and the movement drew Canderous' attention.

The officer who approached first was male, in his late twenties to early thirties, raven-haired, well-muscled. His bronze eyes tugged at some part of Canderous' mind like an old, abandoned memory does––but he just couldn't quite put a finger on it...

After a moment, he recalled it was the champion from the swoop race. Yet the feeling like he knew him from someplace else still lingered on his brain.

The officer's partner, in contrast, was clearly female––Canderous tore his eyes off her slender, curving figure as the raven-haired man, Cross, slid into the empty seat opposite him.

"You're Canderous."

Canderous stirred, a little startled. "Got that right."

He tilted back on the legs of his chair as the lady took a seat beside Cross. "I saw you in the swoop race––pretty damn impressive." he said, then glanced at the lady before returning to Cross, "You seem like you know how to get results. That's just the kind of person I'm looking for."

Cross laced his fingers on the tabletop. He stared with wordless consent to keep talking.

Suddenly feeling strangely like he was stuck in some pressurizing job interview, Canderous continued, "I work for Davik Kang and the Exchange. The hours ain't great, but they promised me a fortune to work for them and I have nothing better to do. Mandalorian mercs like me come high in demand."

Cross nodded, "But lately Kang hadn't been paying up."

Canderous blinked, "How the hell––"

"Just a gut-feeling."

Unsettled, he paused and studied the kid. Something about him was calm, centered––and about powerful as sin. Gods, energy seemed to be radiating off him like a heat so profound that it made the atoms around him shiver in their shells. Not only this, but the shadows in the booth appeared to crawl along the walls, sliding toward the kid as if by magnetic force until he was wrapped near completely in darkness.

This disturbed Canderous, deeply, strangely. What he was now in front of him, covered in shadow, did not resemble human. He blinked, hoping it was just his eyes toying with him––

Suddenly he couldn't be sure...

He glanced at the lady comrade, then nodded to the shadow in Cross's seat, guardedly. "You've got good instincts." he said, knowing this kid might be his only chance, as creepy as he was. "I don't like getting cheated, so I figure it's time for me to break to Sith quarantine and get off this backwater planet."

Cross nodded, slower now. "And how do you plan to do that?"

"I know you ain't Sith, and you're certainly not some petty gangster. But you're _someone_." Canderous said, "I've got a plan to escape Taris, but I can't do it alone. I need someone I know can get the job done to help me." He tipped his glass at the kid, "That's where _you_ come in."

Cross didn't reply, as if he anticipated the ensuing input from his comrade––

"Mercs like this haven't got a lick of conscience." she muttered, "They'll betray you in a heartbeat."

Canderous was too aged, too compact, to let a snide buzz like that crack him. He only chuckled, "I ain't talkin' to you, sweetheart. I'm talking to your friend, now aren't I?"

She made no comeback––Canderous' trained eye caught a twitch of her thumb, annoyance, and that was feedback enough. He returned to Cross. "I saw you win that swoop race, and I started thinking: anyone crazy enough to race like that is probably crazy enough to break into the Sith military base..."

The lady-comrade stiffened. Cross remained motionless, waiting patiently.

Sensing no sign of doubt or second thoughts in the kid, Canderous continued in a lower voice. "I need someone to steal the Sith launch codes from the base. Without 'em, any ship leaving the atmosphere is gonna be vaporized by the Sith fleet's automated defense guns."

Cross nodded thoughtfully. "And if we get those launch codes, you'll provide the vehicle off this planet."

_Gods, that's freaky. _Canderous nodded, teeth showing slightly through his grimace. "It'll be Davik's flagship itself––the _Ebon_ _Hawk_." he said, then returned to the prior subject. "Getting in the Sith base won't be easy. It's protected by an encrypted security system––it would take a top-of-the-line astromech to slice through it."

"And you know just the place to find that?"

Canderous nodded, "Davik is having one of those droids custom built by Janice Nall. The shop isn't far from here––just tell her that Canderous sent you, and she'll sell you the droid. Then you can use it to get the launch codes from the Sith base."

"Why don't you do this yourself?"

Canderous smiled and sighed, "Normally I _would_ do this myself, but everyone knows who I work for. If I broke into the Sith base, they'd send an army down on Davik's estate to get those codes back. That's why I need you––someone."

Cross stared at the grains in the tabletop, though Canderous couldn't tell whether he was tracing them absent-mindedly or actually contemplating what was just said. Then he glanced sidelong at his comrade, questioningly.

"I don't sense any deception from him," she responded, looking Canderous in the eye, studying him. He let her––he didn't give two crying kriffs what she'd say next; her buddy was locked and sealed to this now. "...which is surprising. This may be exactly what we need."

Cross grinned crookedly, "Alright Canderous," he said, "you've got a deal."

**.::.**

_one day later..._

The street traffic rippled like a sea of mottled jewels, stark against the twilit gloom that gathered among the towers.

Bastila stood chin to chest, watching the movement of shadows in the doorway opposite her side of the street––she glimpsed his face about once every minute, heard small exchanges of laughter as he discussed Davik's T3 unit with the droid outlet owner.

Onasi lingered one pace behind her. "Would you please relax?" he said.

She blinked and tore her gaze away from the traffic, "What?"

"You've been staring at the shop for two minutes now."

She looked over her shoulder, glancing at the starpilot in Sith uniform––of the trio, only Revan had donned anonymous civilian clothing.

"I just don't want anything to go wrong." she said tightly. As much as she hated to admit it, Carth saw right––she _was _worried.

Behind her visor, her eyes flicked back to the shop entrance and scanned until she spotted Revan. Just the glimpse of his face was for the most part settling, despite that she could still feel his presence lighting up the shop like a supernova. Now that he was her responsibility again, she felt pressured––even the mere _thought_ of him straying too far from sight rattled her composure.

The galaxy was just too ravaged a place, too broken with evil and malice and terror, too cancerous with elements fully capable of corrupting his heart once more...

"He's no ordinary soldier, is he?"

The voice that spoke belonged to Carth; she hardly recognized it. "Excuse me?"

"I've seen a lot of talent come and go in my days, but _this _guy..." Carth shook his head, "He's clearly more than some lucky bastard."

"I don't see your point."

The starpilot's shoulders rose and fell. When he spoke, his voice conveyed more suspicion than common curiosity. "It's just more than a _little_ convenient that he happens to be here."

Bastila sighed and gritted her teeth. Suddenly the weight of her lightsaber became apparent on her belt, where it was tucked away in the hip-holster typically reserved for carbon rifles or the likes of larger blasters. "I can't believe you're actually trying to accuse me of something right now."

"Face it, this whole mission has been furtive from the start. First with you Jedi acting all holy and secret, taking control of _my_ ship, next with some nerve-fried kid who's got his superpowers to––"

"You think he's sensitive to the Force?"

The starpilot's mouth curled into a smile behind his visor. "Well, isn't he? How else do you explain..._him?"_

Bastila bit her lip, "I believe that the Force has been working _through_ him."

Carth snorted, crossing his arms. Around them, the crowds gave the two 'Sith' Commanders wide berth, every face flowing past with contempt, every form stepping around them with meters to spare as if either of them had derived some immutable flesh-eating disease.

Carth came to a standstill beside her, fixing his own stare on the shop. "I reviewed his service records, before the attack––it's a bit odd that someone who got added to the crew roster at last minute just _happens_ to be one of the survivors." he said, "I get the feeling he's got some bigger part to this mission..."

"We all do."

"I meant inadvertently."

Bastila faced the starpilot, rolling her eyes. "You're sounding like a conspirator."

"Or maybe you really _are_ guilty––"

Bastila's wrist link buzzed.

Before leaving, Revan had extracted the second link from the uniform which Carth now wore, and through some rejuvenated genius in electronics he had tinkered with either dislodged piece, tampering with them until they worked both separately and together––now they could operate through channels encrypted from the primary martial transfer.

She keyed response, hearing his voice crackle through. _"Lights are green and go here, Commander." _

She swept her eyes out over the clog of speeders roaring down the overpass and spotted Revan moving gracefully along the sidewalk, the light of advertisements gleaming along the ablative chrome surface of an astromech unit rolling alongside him.

She nodded. "Time to move out,"

**.::.**

_one hour later... _

Fallon slipped through the shadows like a nebulous phantom, skirting along the light's edge as the darkness around him morphed and deepened, throwing his tall, lean frame into a pitch of faultless gloom. Commander Shan mirrored him on the opposite side of the hallway, lightsaber clutched and deactivated in one hand as she moved through the corridor. Every so often she would turn her head to tip Onasi an icy glare, when his footfalls echoed too loudly.

Eventually they came to an intersection. Shan skidded to a halt, pressing herself against the wall and motioning. Fallon trotted forward, and around the bend of the passage he glimpsed the sparkling blue halo of an energy shield wrapped around a patrol droid. His jaw clenched.

The base's surveillance revolved mainly around droid divisions; Fallon guessed that the actual human patrols themselves had assumed the base to be unbreakable, the entrance to be impassable without the proper security writs––Fallon and both Commanders had only managed to slip inside during the change of watch shifts for the exterior patrols.

Sighing, he followed Shan's example and hid low in the shadow, and cast her a meaningful look. "Think you can manage?"

Her shoulders rose and fell, and she hefted her lightsaber in her hand, as if testing its weight. "Just one second," she said, and slipped out into the corridor. Green light flooded the walls and floors; a twist of invisible force subverted the droid's energy shields, and a single stroke of her lightsaber dismantled the patrol entirely.

Fallon sprinted out from cover, threading his way around the sparking heap of patrol droid, returning to where he was safe in the shadows. He hated standing exposed in the light for too long. "I don't think we have much time. The woman at the front desk––."

A smirk graced Shan's angelic face, "You'd be surprised at the strength of manipulation on a weak mind."

Fallon stood back and forced a smile in return, his features grimacing almost painfully.

It seemed that Commander Shan was not only prideful, headstrong and quick to anger, but also rash, venturesome and foolhardy. _Reckless_, even––

And her idea of slipping past the security was _not_ the same as his: using her powers to delude a merely-mortal conscious was a hair too overhasty, for any situation...

Commander Shan held a dangerous trait within her, someplace inside her firewalled mind.

From Onasi's side, T3 emerged from the shadows and rolled up to Fallon's side. The droid's ensuing whistle sounded suspiciously like a nervous, almost-human agreement to Fallon's thoughts––due to short notice, the droid's builder hadn't quite been able to finish instituting the typical machine sub-algorithms, and now Fallon got the distinct feeling that this little astromech beside him was actually a modicum eccentric.

Already, Fallon found his own thoughts referring to the droid as a _'he', _and not an _'it'._

Carth spoke up as they reached the second elevator alcove. "How do you even know where to find the codes? Did the Mandalorian tell you?"

Shan's reply was almost tired. "The Force is with me to _guide_ me, Carth." she sighed, striding up to the gleaming turbolift doors. "I know where I'm going––"

The sound of metal clanks entered the corridor threefold, then doubled, echoing less and less until two pairs of combat droids thundered into sight, bronzium ablatives gleaming against the overheads. Energy shields shimmered to life around their bulky metallic form, and Shan muttered some incoherent Corellian-sounding expletive, lightsaber singing forth to meet the first barrage of blaster bolts that surged from duel fist-cannons––

Carth ducked down low, meanwhile Fallon took cover behind the fiery wash of blazing malachite that was the Commander's lightsaber. "I think they know we're here now." he said.

Shan ignored him, blade whirling to catch the disintegrating ends of the firestorm that burned through the air. The bolts which she managed to bat back––among the ones which weren't blasting into walls around them––flared on the droids' spherical halos as they were absorbed into boils of splintering plasma.

The droids began to advance, step by step.

A flicker of worry flashed through Shan's eyes. "How about opening that turbolift?" she said mildly over her shoulder, angling her blade just a hair to the left so the tip caught a bolt centimeters from Onasi's head.

A prickling sensation sprang to life in the base of Fallon's skull, and he dipped his chin, feeling the heat of a stray bolt whistle over his head and singe his hair. Beside him, T3's shrill squeal bordered humanly close to terrified as a bolt ripped lightning through the air and nearly blasted the astromech's cranial disk off. A panel popped open in the little droid's side, and out shot a datajack that stabbed into the wall socket, rotating through a series of barely audible clicks.

"Good idea," Fallon said grimly. In all the conflict he decided it was merely best to shoot at random upon the enclosing enemy––the bolts fired from his blaster only vaporized on the droids' shields.

Bastila glanced at him from the corner of her eye. "Oh, that's genius."

Fallon's jaw clenched. "It seemed like a good idea––"

The turbolift doors zipped into the wall. Fallon scrambled inside as the hailstorm of energy chased either Commander over the threshold, T3 retracting his––_its––_datajack and rolling along after them as fast as its drive motors would spin. Shan deflected the last bolts from the droids outside, Fallon punched the turbolift's control––

The doors whished closed, sealing all three of them to the quiet of the pod. For a long stretch of silence, nothing came between the trio but the powered whirring of shaft drives that hurled the pod up past level after level.

_Well, trouble seems to have a way of finding us, _Fallon thought, slumped against the elevator wall as he forced his heart back under control. "A damn shame," he breathed, "there's no music in here."

Commander Shan let her blade shrink away. She nodded to the turbolift control, "Which floor did you hit?"

Fallon blinked, hardly aware that he'd indeed selected a level before the doors had shut. "I––um..." He shook his head, staring absently at the blinking wall panel.

Almost as if to fill the blanks whirling in his mind, the elevator shuddered to a halt. The doors hissed and unsealed, and slid back. What stood beyond was a shadow, black as the infinite night that wrapped itself around entire star systems, cold as the hard wheel of stars sprayed across the nightside sky. The shadow's arm was outstretched, spanning from caliginous flesh to a sizzling vein of deep, candent blood––

His eyes whispered softly the death of the galaxy.

Emerald fire burst from Commander Shan's fist once more. "You just had to pick _this_ floor..."

**.::.**


	13. Chapter Ten

**And so the next chapter has arrived (*happy, blaring trumpets and whatnot please*)! Okay, so here you go guys; I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I loved writing it. One more chapter down, countless more to go, but just one away from the ****_end of Taris_**** - thank you so much to everyone who's stuck with the story this far! I really, ****really**** appreciate it! **

**And as for reviews, thank you stranglin and bradwart! You guys are awesome, and since you two were the last ones to turn in reviews, this chapter is dedicated to you both! Hope yuh love it! :D**

**Okay, so start reading!**

* * *

**CHAPTER TEN**

Shadows crackled and flared with bursting energy. The air smelled of lightning.

Scarlet flashed, burning through the computer moorings in the wall beside them and spraying a shower of white-hot sparks as they moved, slashing and dodging and parrying and blocking, ripping the air around them with snarling power, winding throughout the situation room in a lethal dance of sizzling fire that cast wicked colors up the walls.

Exchanges flashed. Blades crackled. Thrusts were parried and kicks were sideslipped, feints were met with twisting leaps and appels were scrambled by ankle sweeps.

Bastila drove her end of the duel with the pure kinetic power of Djem So, raining blows from every plausible angle, moving with swift, graceful steps that outmaneuvered her opponent's heavy, sweeping blows, so as not to give him the opening to hound her into a corner. On the opposite side of their blades, the Sith himself returned with a more lithe style––his footing was elegant, but it strode in near perfect alignment, his strikes weaving and yet heavy and energetic, spun almost intricately and unpredictably together as if the arcs of his blade that flashed faster than the eye could see were instead a spherical halo of faultless bloodshine.

Every one of his blows was reinforced with reserves of the dark power Bastila felt whirling inside his heart.

Synthetic crimson from the Sith's hand whirled and chopped, and crashed down on her blade, shocking her with pain that stabbed through her wrists like spiked garrotes of fire, bending them into near submission. With her senses thrown hazy, the Sith lunged; one stab slapped her blade aside, guiding it slanting away, and reached for her heart––

She met the stab with a rising parry, locking their flaring blades just a hairsbreadth from each other's throats, chest-to-chest. She grimaced past the plasmatic heat boiling down either blade, and watched the Sith's lips peel back over his teeth.

"I sense great fear in you, _Jedi_..."

Bastila's teeth grated down, shooting bolts of pain into her face. She forced her strength straining into the sizzling cross of blades before her, pushing her entire body against the Sith's burning, crushing strength, which was slowly bearing down on top of her...

She was vaguely aware of Onasi and Revan, both of which who lingered near the slashed walls of the lobby, unsure of what to do––

She hardly sensed the Sith summoning the surge of dark power that blasted her off her feet and crushed her against the far wall with enough velocity to buckle the computer panels at her back. She fell crippled to the floor, her mind a whirlwind of howling, blurry thought. She looked around.

In a quantum instant of the second that the Sith crouched low, preparing to swing himself into a spring-loaded headlong leap, Bastila spotted her lightsaber as it clattered to the floor justmetersaway_–– _

And flipped to life, whistling through the air and slapping into Revan's hands with perfect synchrony as he roared and launched himself at the Sith, blade swinging wildly over his head.

Bastila saw the primal fury in the Sith's eyes flicker like a candle, then wisp to mirthless smoke as emerald fire burned into his spine and chewed through his nerve chord, charring his kidneys and plunging deep into his heart and bursting out through his chest.

The blade shrank away.

Her breath squeezed from her lungs, comprehension wiped from her brain, Bastila blinked and tore her eyes from the body that folded to the floor. She looked at Revan as he staggered from the deepening shadows, stunned with revulsion. Her lightsaber fell free from his slackening fingers and clattered to the floor beside his boots.

**.::.**

_four hours later..._

Dawn was limning the skylines as they approached the cantina, the light of daybreak throwing the tops of spacescrapers into silhouette like blaster scorches smeared across the horizon.

Not a word passed between them as they walked, and only the roaring flux of cosmopolitan life filled their silence.

"We should tread carefully from here." she said, glancing sidelong at Revan. "I sensed no deception from him during our last meeting––"

"Neither did I."

He was walking right alongside her, but his voice sounded distant, as if it was carried on the morning breeze.

She looked at him again, studying him. Despite the sunlight on his face a shadow still seemed to hang over him, deeper, darker than before. His expression was calm as stone, but his eyes had turned hard, and Bastila could feel a storm of trepidation whirling inside him, crushing down on his heart with a low, rolling thunder that blacked out the streamlines of his inner light.

And that light, so she felt, was wavering.

With one sharp dip of her chin, Bastila continued. "...but until he proves he's credible, we should be careful. _Extremely _careful––Mandalorian's and mercenaries are both vile, but when you combine them..." She shook her head.

"I know."

Silence fell between them like a hammer, quiet and tense. She watched Revan step aside as a pair of younglings sprinted laughing past him down the sidewalk, and the smile that flickered over his face turned rueful, then grim.

"I felt his death," he said lonesomely. His voice sounded raw, as if he'd been shouting all day.

Bastila knew he was speaking of the Sith from the base, and she bit her lip, staring silently ahead and trying to appear tolerant. She had never been good with patience, especially while others were trusting that she'd listen––this seemed to be Revan's...or, rather _Fallon's_...virtue, not hers.

She tried anyway.

"I felt it," he said again, slower now. "and I really don't think I'd be able to handle myself, if it happened again."

"It's because of your connection to the Force, that you felt what you did." she said, "All of life is connected––so were you when part of it fell away."

He shook his head. "Connected?"

Suddenly finding herself where her Masters must have once stood––but with Revan on the other end instead of her pestering ten year-old self––Bastila spoke slowly, picking her words carefully. "The Force is created by all living things. You could say that it binds the galaxy together."

Revan's mouth quirked in a small smile, "So does gravity."

She sighed. "If you really want to put it that way..."

Then she shook her head and continued, "I understand that you're shaken by what happened..." she said, "but you shouldn't let it bother you. At least not for the present."

Something flickered through his eyes, then was gone too fast for her to decipher it. "Is that what you do, Commander, when you kill a man?" He spoke without looking at her, his voice harsh as the rough silicon crags of Corellian singing quartz. "Not let it bother you?"

Bastila blinked. "R––Fallon, you _had_ to do what you did. Otherwise I likely wouldn't even be talking with you right now."

He walked on, unresponsive, and she felt her temper tremble.

"He was a _Sith_." she continued, "An _enemy––"_

Revan nodded, digesting her words and the sense beneath them, and yet appearing wholly unconvinced thereafter. Within him, his storm of trouble had scoured open a cold, empty void––the kind of void that, over time, filled with regret and grief and guilt.

Revan blew a sigh, as if all of these feelings could ride away on a single burst from his lungs, and he shook his head grimly. "He wasn't born that way, though."

For a moment Bastila only frowned, and thought––of course that Sith hadn't been born that way. _Nobody _was ever born with a lightsaber gripped in hand and a lust for death burning in their heart and eyes, but––

A frown slipped down her face. But––_what? _Did she even _have_ a 'but'?

Bastila's mind drew blanks, and for a long, awkward pause, she found she had nothing to say.

"No one is." she said after several moments. What reply came from her mouth next tasted wrong on her lips––almost hollow, as if the words themselves were just dried carcasses stripped of flesh and deprived of meat, left dangling and vulnerable to kath hounds that wouldn't even take a snap at it while it was naked without substance––

"But we serve our duty to the Republic, whether as a soldier like you, or a Jedi like me." she said simply, "You were only doing what had to be done."

"I know that." He said, "But...how do you find peace with a nightmare like death?"

Bastila bit her lip, her nerves unsettled and struggling to slip back down so her mind could reverse the situation. His statement just sounded too contradictory, too oxymoronic, too _disturbing_, to be anywhere close to answerable.

She replied at last. "You haven't slept, and you're over-thinking the matter." she said, "You just have to learn to find peace within yourself, with what you've done."

He fell silent, absorbing the words like they were water to a baked sand-sponge in a desert canyon. "That's a lot easier said than tried."

She brushed a strand of hair from her face and tucked it behind one ear. "You need to examine what you've done and find your reasons for doing it, and then decide whether those reasons are just."

Revan nodded, slower this time. "And...if they're not?"

Bastila's mouth compressed to a grim white line. "Then you breath." she said dryly.

A frown rubbed off on his brow, and he glanced her way before returning his stare ahead, clearly unsure of whether she was serious or not.

He said nothing more for the remainder of the walk.

**.::.**

They reached the cantina a few minutes later, slipping inside the smoky room and scanning the faces around them. Few heeded them in return––the hardcopy stands on this side of the lower city had faded from the search for surviving Republic soldiers to typical chrysalis of life that was swallowed in the rushing metropolis sea miles above their heads. Now most of the occupants around only stared at their drinks rather than on-comers.

They found the stubbly Mandalorian sitting alone in a shadowed corner, his back to the wall as he drained the contents of some brew that looked capable of burning straight through his innards like Bastila's lightsaber. They crossed the cantina floor and eased into the seats opposite him.

"I figured you'd be back," Canderous sighed, then continued. "I heard the Sith base had a break in." he smiled, "I ain't trying to sound too straightforward here, but you've got those codes, am I right?"

Revan leaned back in his seat. From a pocket on his belt he pulled out a flimsi––hyperpressed on it in black gloss were the glyphs they'd watched spider across a screening console in the base's cryptograph center, just minutes after recovering from their encounter with the Sith.

Revan slid the flimsi across the tabletop to Canderous, and watched a wicked grin hatch on the Mandalorian's broad, scarred face. "So when can we go?"

Canderous chuckled, looking actually as if he was on the verge of tears as he gazed down at the codes in hand. "We can go right now." he said through his grin. "Davik's always looking to recruit new talent. I'll tell him how you won that swoop race and mention that you're interested in working for the exchange."

"And I just go in so he can run background checks on me?"

Canderous shrugged, "That's the gist of it, mostly. Those checks won't take longer than a couple of days, but he'll have you stay at his estate while he goes through the standard procedures."

The Mandalorian's grin returned, and he looked up wickedly from under his brow, "...and that's when we haul off like a flock o' mynocks outta hell."

Bastila bit her lip. "It's risky." she said, "We should find another way."

Canderous turned to face her now, his smile faltering. "You got another plan, sister? Or are you just objecting because you didn't think of it?"

"No, I––" Her temper caught, just a little. "No, I _don't_ have another plan. I would rather not place my life in your hands, however..."

"I can say the same about you. That makes us even." he said, then shrugged his meaty shoulders, "Fortunately we both wanna get off this rock, right?"

While Canderous was talking, Bastila reached into the Force. The world around her crystallized and went mute as she shot through the Mandalorian's conscious, skimming over the planes of his mind and sweeping around the jagged ends of faults and plots which stuck out like lances driven into his ice-ridden brain, and she scanned for the pivotal fracture or spider knot or pulsing atom that would indicate the slightest distortion in the story sleeting from his mouth––

She ran into not one lie, surprisingly.

Withdrawing, Bastila made no further comment; Canderous was still talking. "While Davik's checking you out, we steal the Ebon Hawk and escape Taris." he said, rising from his seat. "Come on––I've got an air speeder nearby to take us to his estate. The sooner we're off Taris, the better."

Revan nodded, glancing at Bastila. "Should you head back and get the others ready?"

She shook her head, "Just contact them through your comm once we're in the speeder. It'll look too leery if you don't show up at the estate with your––" her jaw clenched and she waved a hand. "..._prize."_

The corner of Revan's mouth quirked in a smile, "I thought you were a damsel in distress, Commander."

She felt blood climb in her cheeks, and her stare hardened to chips of stone. "And I thought _you_ were just a soldier under _my_ orders."

**.::.**

Electrodrivers and crystal circuitry sang through the metal-jointed remains of a living being.

The song was cold and perpetual, eternally infinite. It echoed on––buzzing through the osseous cavities of his skull as planets wheel endlessly through a night with no end; burning down to the pulpy illusion that trembled where a heart once danced; whispering beneath two cold starburst cancers which, only in memory, cradled tears for things loved and things dreamed, for things feared a millennium ago.

The embrace of life and the hand of death that gave it, and ended it just so, the Dark Lord stood motionless amid the doomsong that echoed throughout his body. Only when a voice spoke behind him, did he stir.

"You summoned me, Lord Malak?"

_Karath._

The voice that spoke for him rattled in his throat and made the crawling cybernetic nightmare of his face hum with sonic power, a monster's voice crafted for the one that spoke within him.

"The search for Bastila is taking too long. We cannot risk her escaping Taris." he rasped. From behind the view wall his crushing stare focused on the orbiting planetary curve kilometers below...

"Destroy the entire planet."

The angst in Karath's voice forced his words to shiver. "Th... The entire planet––."

Karath blinked. He licked his lips. "Lord Malak, but...there are billions of people on Taris. We'd be slaughtering countless innocent civilians. Not to mention our own men still on the surface––"

The Dark Lord snapped around, and the dark, primal fury of the universe poured into his eyes. "Your predecessor once made the mistake of questioning my orders, Admiral." the shadow said, his tone as thin as glass on a hyperblistering cell of boiling ion fluids. "Surely you are not so foolish as to make the same mistake..."

The one emotion Karath's trembling heart had the will to summon flashed through his eyes, clearly sustaining the weight of Admiral Dirth's deceased memory.

Karath's feet shot back four steps from the Dark Lord's towering presence. "Of––of course not, my Lord. I will do as you command." he stuttered, spreading his shaky before him, then quickly clasping them together so tight that white bands began to stretch along his knuckles. "But it will take several hours to position our fleet––"

"Then I suggest you begin immediately." the shadow said, already returning to the viewport. "You are dismissed, Admiral."

**.::.**


	14. Chapter Eleven

**Okay guys, here's the next chapter! Sorry if it took a while and if it's choppy and rushed, but I've been busier between this story and studying. Anyway, I hope you enjoy it! And stranglin, thanks for the review again - - this chapter is dedicated to you! Enjoy!**

* * *

**CHAPTER ELEVEN**

The bridge that led to the estate spanned a kilometer-deep chasm between two residential complexes, constructed predominantly of fortified transparisteel––a queasy knot pulled itself tighter in Fallon's stomach. He was looking directly down, through the crystalline panels under his boots, and watching the crosshatched rivers of airtraffic course through the duracrete canyons dozens of meters below.

He suddenly found himself feeling grateful––just so incredibly, immensely _grateful_––of the high rails that hugged either side of the bridge, repelling the ferocious hyperwinds which could have tossed him over the side like a feather in a summer breeze.

The bridge swayed with a heavy gust of wind, and Fallon nervously averted his eyes skyward. He sensed the Commander's approach as she took a place beside him––she must have recognized his anxiety, for a faint smirk now graced her rosy lips.

He caught the expression from the corner of his eye. "I'm just..." he said slowly, "nervous."

"Oh?"

He inclined his head. "About the task at hand."

The Commander looked skeptical, but she nodded anyway, still smirking. "Of course." she said, visibly biting back on the smug light in her eyes. "I see..."

Fallon's jaw clenched, but he said nothing more. One pace ahead of the Commander, Canderous spoke in a low, substantially disgusted voice. "There's the rich bastard..."

Fallon followed the Mandalorian's gaze; at the opposite end of the bridge, which stretched from the docking complex to a pair of doors embedded with stained glass and sleet gravel, a man approached.

He was shorter than even Commander Shan, but by far older, overdressed in expensive clothing, his thinning gray hair stylized in a fashion descried more often in Coruscanti youth. The sunlight focused to perception portions of his face where numerous powders had been applied to at least try to cover up his wrinkles.

Davik Kang certainly _did_ appear to hold himself in an age-range far younger, far more unfledged, than his own.

Fallon frowned, just a bit. "I figured he would have been a couple centuries younger, from what I've heard about him..."

The crime lord strode out swiftly to meet them. "Canderous––" he greeted in a polished, somewhat cordial voice that felt to wrap around everyone on the bridge. "I see you've brought guests with you." Davik swept his beady blue eyes over Fallon, then the Commander. "Most intriguing, if I do say so myself." he said, lifting an eyebrow. "...you usually travel alone."

A new voice broke into the atmosphere. "It's not like you to take on partners, Ordo. You're getting soft."

Fallon looked up, and startled. Before them stood a stout man dressed in a heavy blue overcoat that seemed to swallow him from shoulder down; slapped on his face were goggles so big they almost ate his kriffing head.

Fallon tensed––he hadn't even seen the merc move from the entrance, let alone sensed him.

And just as quickly as the merc had appeared, animosity could be felt curling within Canderous like a hot black smoke.

"Watch yourself, Calo." the Mandalorian growled, his eyes swimming with a fiery light that was surely fledged blazing inside his skull. "You might be the newest kath hound in the pack, but you ain't top dog yet––"

"Enough!" Davik shouted, just a scrape above openly hostile.

Fallon blinked. He watched the crime lord's eyes flash with an almost deadly fulgor, turning cold and hard as snow-dusted cortosis. For a lasting stretch of silence everyone on the bridge became quiet and tense, and Fallon's discomfort only increased when he saw, from the corner of his vision, the Commander's hand brush instinctively past the holster clipped to her belt, wherein her lightsaber rested snug––

Then Davik barked laughter, short...and immensely more nerve-racking than the silence.

The crime lord's presence suddenly softened, mellowing back into a rather pastoral nature. His warm smile, which before had faltered dangerously, gradually thawed away the brittle ice in his eyes and returned. He spread his hands.

"What can I say? I can't have my top two men kill each other––that's not good business, now is it?" he said, a sliver below cheerful, his tone scraping by just a hair above impending violence.

Much to Fallon's surprise, Canderous' head sank, as did Calo's––it was a somewhat humorous, slightly depressing sight to see: either brawny mercenary stare shamefaced down at the transparisteel between their feet, like younglings being reprimanded for a wrongdoing.

Fallon lifted an eyebrow. He glanced at Commander Shan and allowed his own subtle smirk to play on his lips, although the smile shifted indecisively between a '_what in hell' _kind of smile, or a '_should we run' _type. She merely responded with an inconspicuous shrug, her gray eyes hard as chips of stone.

Davik spoke again. "I'm sure Canderous has an explanation as to why he's not working solo anymore."

Ears pricking, Canderous raised his head and nodded. "This is a special case, Davik. I ran into someone the Exchange might want to recruit. You may have heard something of his exploits already."

Fallon stepped forward, squeezing his hands together behind his back. He stood straighter while Davik examined him, seeming to take several minutes for his mind to register. Around them, the bridge swayed slightly as a gust of wind swept against it––

"Ah, yes––I recognize your companion now!"

Fallon braced himself not to startle when Davik grinned. "The rider who won the big swoop race! Very impressive...as was your display in the rather heated battle afterward."

Fallon forced rather than allowed himself a smile. "Brejek had to learn that double-crossers tend to end up dead."

Davik threw back his head and barked laughter, short, unsettling as a rabid mynock. Fallon shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot, but otherwise kept his grin intact.

"An important lesson to learn, no doubt!" Davik chuckled. His grin had widened so far across his cheekbones that Fallon thought his face might split open. "In my line of business I've seen _far_ too many people suffer for not understanding such principles..."

Fallon smiled, painfully, and nodded, clenching his hands behind his back until he felt his knuckles start to _sting_––

Then the crime lord turned his attention to the Commander instead, his eyes twinkling mischievously with visible lust. Fallon's jaw clenched.

"And this here would be your lovely prize..."

Bastila regarded him coldly; Fallon struggled not to, feeling his blood climb to his ears. _And next should be her lightsaber, your face and the floor, you gluttonous, laserbrained slug–– _

"I wouldn't get too close to her!" he blurted.

A frown touched Davik's brow. The crime lord froze where he stood, looking urgent. "Why not?"

"Because, ah–– " Fallon gave a slightly shaky laugh, racking his brain for anything to say, just to get that pig's eyes _off of her. _"Because she's got a bad habit of––of _biting..."_

The crime lord blinked. "Biting––?"

He looked at Fallon uncertainly.

Astonished with even his own stupidity, Fallon only went on nodding. "Um––I'm not quite sure why, either..." he said, "But I get the feeling that the Vulkars' abuse during her captivity may have..." He spread his hands, tapped the side of his head with one tentative finger. "...knocked a few bolts loose, if you know what I mean."

He fought the urge to look at the Commander, and felt something that resembled terminal rage boiling around her presence.

Beside him, Canderous chuckled and shook his head. "I ain't too sure myself, Davik." he sighed, "The crazed shutta actually took a snap at me on the ride here––gods know what could've happened, had we left her behind and she somehow broke loose into the city..."

A frown marred Davik's brow, and a tight grimace plastered itself where a smile tried weakly to develop. His eyes flickered nervously to the Commander, wary––after a moment, a cold, feral smile met his stare directly from her face.

His throat bobbing, the crime lord casually backed away, just a couple steps.

"Well," Davik said, reverting uncouth back to the former topic. "...with the recommendation from Canderous here, and of course a thorough background check, youcould become part of the Exchange."

Satisfied as he watched Davik glance nervously in the Commander's direction, avoiding eye-contact, Fallon grinned and nodded. "Canderous has told me much about the business." he said briskly, clapping the Mandalorian awkwardly on the shoulder.

Canderous fidgeted on contact, uneasy, then nodded. "Many would _kill_ to prove themselves worthy of this honor..." he growled.

At the Mandalorian's emphasis on _'kill',_ Fallon snapped his hand back, extending it instead toward Davik. "You're offer intrigues me, sir––I look forward to working with you."

"Come with me." Davik sighed, grasping the extended hand in a deathgrip that almost crushed Fallon's fingers. "I'll give you a tour of my operation. I'm sure you'll be impressed."

Fallon barely managed to extract himself from the handshake. "Lead the way, sir." he said sorely, ignoring the pain now jolting through his hand. Davik turned and began to walk toward the gleaming entrance doors, and Fallon fell into step alongside the crime lord, feeling the piercing daggers of Commander Shan's glare driving into his back.

**.::.**

Carth leaned on the rail of the apartment balcony that overlooked the cityscape, and he gazed out into dusk, unsure of how long he stood there, staring. He was tense. Uneasy.

Worried, even...

An almost overpowering disturbance was gnawing in the back of his mind, some inexplicable fear that chased away reason and speculation and every possible modicum of sleep––already, the minutes of the day were smearing together in a blurry, timeless haze that left him contemplating on only one half of his foggy brain.

At first he'd thought it was just _this_, lack of sleep, that was bothering him. After all, he hadn't slept since..._whenever_ he'd actually last slept.

But then the disturbance had shifted inside him, welling in a way that crisped his senses and sharpened his nerves, as if nature itself was operating through his earliest, most primal genes and preparing him for some drastic environmental disaster or prodigious change around him. Even now, everything––every gleaming headlight, every wailing siren, every breath of stinking pollution––seemed sharp to him.

Of course, there was one _other_ explanation for his unaccountable trouble: the last time his stay on a world like Taris had sunken into his bones, had been on Telos––

And _that_ was still the nightmare of his every dream's haunting embrace.

But it wasn't what bothered him now. No, as of now he was just stuck with an overwhelming, entirely distressing, nearly overpowering _bad feeling..._

And he didn't even know why.

Behind him, the Wookie grumbled in his sleep where he was curled into a slumber so deep that Carth had assumed he was hibernating. He'd tried to make conversation with the beast––even though half of the time he couldn't decipher an actual phrase from a heaving, threatening gnarr––but the Wookie wasn't exactly chatty.

Neither was Mission, ever since their little spat in the sewers days ago. Presently, she was inside, her nose buried in toying with her blaster at the workbench or tinkering aftermarket behaviors into the T3 unit, which now had countless auxiliary tools due to both her and Fallon's engineering.

Carth scowled. On thought of _that_ subject, he should tell one of them to fix the droid's behavioral core––something was wrong with the blasted thing; it was broken or faulty, and now the droid's attitude was growing increasingly, almost _humanly _unpleasant to be around.

Everyone was unpleasant to be around, for that matter...

Ever since the encounter at the Sith base, the kid had become as aphonic as a deaf mute, meanwhile the bloody Jedi only continued to maintain an absolute-silence, slipping out cryptic answers to every single one of his goddamned questions––

Carth heaved a sigh and turned his eyes to the skyline. Twilight was starting to fall, dragging its faded hues out along the gleaming spacescrapers, slipping over the sleek chrome surfaces of airspeeders that clogged the landscape. Kilometers above, Carth could make out, just _barely_, the tiny dark pinpricks of the Sith fleet, positioned just outside the planet's gravity well––

A frown touched Carth's brow. Did something up there look _different?_

He'd kept an eye on the blockade every day, ever since they'd been stranded on this gods-forsaken planet, and gradually the fleet chain had burned its position into his memory. Now he could have spotted it with his eyes closed.

Each separate vessel had been arranged so that they interlocked, in a sense––the invisible lengths connecting them hadn't been so centralized, as to allow mobility for emergency jumps. And the ships in higher orbit had been positioned gunward, within a clear open range to vaporize illicit crafts leaving or entering the atmosphere, meanwhile the ships in lower orbit were screened starboard within reach of support carriers, tightened to a mobile barricade across either half of the planet––

But now...

Carth squinted up at the skies, straining until his eyes began to ache. Now the blockade was _moving_, not away, but––

He felt his blood freeze. They were moving_ aside...?_

From what the Republic starpilot knew about the Sith's, or anyone's, orbital tactics, it appeared to his naked eye that the Sith fleet was preparing for a bombardment.

Carth blinked. "Oh gods..."

**.::.**

Bastila hovered over his shoulder, her eyes darting from the lit console readout as he input the launch codes, then to the sealed doors behind them, then back again––

_Incessantly_.

Revan's bare hands stroked the console. The readout at his fingertips sped through an endless list of scrolling rows of numbers. He paused and lifted his hands tentatively, and looked up at her. "Commander?"

"Hmm?"

"You standing over me is profoundly nerve-racking."

Bastila blinked. "Sorry––" she muttered, turning elsewhere, sweeping her eyes out over the blaster-chopped computer surfaces that lined the walls of the room. Her eyes flicked briefly to the bodies of three security guards now lying twisted on the floor. Then she stepped around them and continued pacing.

She knew panicking over the present situation made _very_ close to precisely no sense at all. And yet, she just couldn't shake feeling so _anxious_––

No matter how she focused her emotions, no matter which or how many Jedi mantras were buzzing along on the inside of her skull, she just couldn't shake this overwhelming, entirely distressing _bad feeling..._

From the other end of the room, where he stood watch by the door, Canderous looked amused. Bastila's mouth compressed, but otherwise she ignored him.

She continued pacing.

"So Bastila..." Canderous sighed. She could hear the smile in his voice––he was bound to start this sooner or later. "I heard a rumor that the Vulkars captured you without much of a struggle."

She froze where she stood, her temper thawing to the surface and licking fire into her nerves. "How can you _actually_ think this is the right time to pester me like a brainless kriff?"

The Mandalorian shrugged almost innocently. "I just figured that it must have been embarrassing for you, to be bested by a handful of street thugs..."

She took a step toward him, then bit down on her temper. "There were..." she said, "extenuating circumstances. And I can assure you it took _far _more than just a handful of Vulkars to subdue me."

Still at work with the console, Revan spoke over his shoulder. "Okay––let's not get into this."

Canderous chuckled. "Whatever you say..."

The Mandalorian returned to his watch and remained silent for a small while––three seconds at the longest.

"...all I know is that if we had more Jedi like Bastila fighting against us in the Mandalorian Wars, my side might not have lost."

An angry, fiery void opened up in Bastila's chest––

"Bold talk coming from a broken-down mercenary who was _serving_ at Davik's heel! I'd call you his pet kath hound, but they have enough loyalty _not_ to turn on their masters."

A dangerous light entered the merc's eyes. "Insults?" he said, as if echoing his own thoughts. Then he inclined his head and growled dangerously, "Maybe if your Master had trained your lightsaber to be as quick as your tongue, you could have escaped those Vulkars, you spoiled little Jedi _princess_––"

"I was not_ spoiled!" _she forced through her teeth, "I was given the same training as _anyone_ else in the Order––"

"_Stop_ it!" Revan twisted around, frustration burning helplessly in his eyes. "You're acting ridiculous, both of you!"

Bastila looked at the former Dark Lord for a moment, then released a heavy breath that unclenched her smoldering nerves. She shook her head, turning her back to Canderous. "Just how long is that code?" she said to Revan.

Eyes fixed on the readout, he shook his head. "Not too long."

"And––?"

He sighed, "And now I'm disabling the Hawk's security systems."

Bastila frowned. "Where did you get the codes for that?"

He mumbled a reply almost inaudibly, "The prisons..." he shrugged, "...downstairs..."

Bastila shook her head. She shook it again. "The _prisons?" _she echoed indignantly, "And what––one of Davik's prisoners just _handed _you the codes?"

"No, I freed him first. Then he told me the codes."

Bastila's jaw dropped. She started to speak, but he spoke first.

"Commander, if you're not about to thank me, then you should save your words for later––" he said, turning swiftly away from the console as a grin split crookedly on his face. "Because we're ready to go..."

Of course, by this point Bastila was no longer listening to him. She was no longer aware of the fading sneer planted on Canderous' smug face, or the cocky gleam in Revan's eyes that slowly fell away as he saw whatever black, cryptic fear was hatching behind her own.

By this point, she was no longer in the present.

She was inside her head, rather, trapped––frozen with fear as a flickering, towering front of the dark side swept into the drafts of time, and billowed like roiling smoke into the riptides of the Force, whispering contempt, casting ragged swaths of shadow over every edge in sight and raining down ageless, slithering fear, spreading wide its wings of peril and wrapping itself around––

Until the world was consumed in darkness.

And just as swiftly as the monstrous disturbance had hatched, Bastila was thrown back into the present, shaking where she stood melded to the floor, fear crawling through her bones and seeping in through her skull, opening up a cold, empty void in her chest. Screams of a memory that had yet to happen faded to silence in her head.

"Commander––?"

His voice sounded hoarse, almost so _helpless_; her head snapped up––

The dragon was half-collapsed on the wall, all wrapped up in shadow. His eyes were raw, and red, and he appeared to be struggling with something deep inside of himself, as if the terror-monster of the darkside that had hatched within the heart of the Force was ripping into his _own_ heart, sinking its poisonous fangs into his soul and dripping fear into his blood. Bastila blinked; the dragon was gone––

A stranger now sagged weakly in the dragon's place, the comlink on his wrist buzzing, maddening, and Bastila started. "You should––" was all she got out before a distant thunder began to roll, not inside her heart but rather _outside._

Tremors rocked the floor under her boots, and she looked to the dragon––_Revan–– _

"Are they––?"

As if to answer her stammering question, Carth's voice crackled through the wrist link_, _confirming _exactly _what fears were spinning like the galaxy through her mind.

**.::.**

All throughout the galaxy, all at once, Jedi felt the death of Taris.

As the planet turned slowly around the backscattering of its blue-burst namesake star, fire rained down upon the global city. Thunderbolts burned through atmospheric entry and smashed into the sprawling cityscape below, unleashing enough power to vaporize entire kilometers on impact, leaving the crippled skylines smoking with prayers of desperation and destruction and terror.

Picking herself up from the pain that clawed at her heart and threatened to swallow it forever in darkness, Bastila stumbled almost nervelessly down the quaking corridor. She glanced out a huge arc of window, which was now beginning to crack under stress from the shocking wavefront that sheared across the cityscape, and she nearly choked when she saw the curtain of red rain blasting into the skyline and moving gradually toward the estate––

She shouted to pick up the pace, her own heartbeat spiking, every breath feeling as if her lungs were filled with scalding hot gravel. She breathed into the Force a near inhuman wave of stamina, if only to get Canderous and Revan moving _faster. _

Almost in the blink of an eye, the gleaming doors to the hangar stood before them––Revan sprinted to the door control, his typically steady hands trembling as fear racked ghost white into his pale face. The doors zipped aside––

And almost the instant they stepped through, parallel doors on the opposite end of the hangar slid into the blast wall, and out stepped two faces who could never have made this situation any easier...

"Well, look who we've got here," Davik shouted, towering beside Calo, a light almost as fiery as the approaching storm burning in his eyes. "thieves in the hangar––"

It was as far as the crime lord came with words, before Bastila's lightsaber snapped to life and whipped through the air like a missile, swinging end over end in emerald arcs that rode on waves of the Force, shooting not for Davik's head, nor Calo's, but rather toward the durasteel support girders that crosshatched the hangar's vaulted ceilings directly above them––

Ushering her will to the Force, the green blade swerved and slashed through the girders.

Barely registering the situation as shrieks of anguished metal cut through the air, Davik scrambled––

He was just a hair too slow as the smoldering, white-edged supports tore free of their collateral beams and came crashing down upon him. The entire hangar thundered. Bastila's lightsaber swung back down, handgrip smacking solidly into her palm just in time to catch the hail of blasterfire that erupted from Calo's pistols, from where he'd managed to dive into clearance outside what was now Davik's makeshift burial shroud.

About ten yards away, the _Ebon Hawk_ dominated the center of the hangar, safe, inviting––her mirror-polished exterior plates gleamed in the blasterfire that chased the trio up the loading ramp. Despite the merc's skill, soon Calo was just barely managing to slip around the bolts batted back his way, meanwhile Bastila could feel the bouts of adrenaline bursting through Revan as he and Canderous scrambled through the _Hawk_'s close-confined passages, scouting out the cockpit.

The ship's repulsorlifts initiated even before the ramp had begun to close, and the sublights roared to life in a blinding wash of electric blue. A few last bolts were squeezed from Calo's blaster, shooting into the ship before the ramp sealed itself closed, and the Ebon Hawk streaked from the mouth of hangar and into the burning sea beyond.

**.::.**

Carth nearly collapsed when he saw the mirror-polished vessel streak down and scrape alongside the balcony. The ramp's seals hissed and the door descended, and the first face he saw was Fallon's, looking nervous and almost apologetic.

"Sorry for the delay, Commander."

"Save it for later," Carth said as the fellow soldier stepped carefully down the ramp.

Fallon gripped the handles beside the open hatch as wind scoured through his hair and plastered his clothes to his skin. Somewhere behind Carth, Zaalbar moaned, and the starpilot spun around to see the Wookie cradling a core-shocked, immobile Mission toward the railing.

As Fallon pulled the twi'lek girl up the ramp and stowed her away someplace inside the ship, Carth's eyes flickered west, to the approaching storm of red.

Gods, just a _mile_ now. A kriffing _mile–– _

"_Go!"_ he shouted, dashing forward and shoving the shaggy beast with both hands as the Wookie hobbled up the ramp and scrambled through the open hatchway. The instant that second stinking, hairy foot graced the gloom of the ship's interior, Carth sprang atop the rails of the balcony, arms flailing for balance––

_NO, no, no, no, no–– _

Fallon's hand shot out and grasped him just above the elbow. The soldier pulled him onto the ramp with calm-nurtured ease. "Try to watch your step, Commander." he said, following Carth inside the main hold as he struck the button that closed the ramp behind them.

The deck lurched under Carth's boots as the ship shuddered and groaned into motion, and he caught himself on the edge of the holocomm console against one wall. "Who in hell is _piloting_ this ship?" he growled through his teeth.

Fallon nodded in the direction of a narrow shoulder-passage that must have led to the cockpit. "Either Commander Shan or Canderous..." he said absently, kneeling gently to Mission where she was huddled stricken against Zaalbar's shag coat, her face wearing only a ghost of an expression.

Carth sprinted for the passage, pelting through a right-hand corridor and staggering into the cockpit. He breathed in his surroundings. Off on his starboard side, Bastila sat strapped in full crash webbing before the copilot's strip of controls. On the opposite side of the banking partition, a hulking, graying mass of man was hunched over the port dashboard––Carth's stomach nearly heaved when he saw the man's nervous, flustered hands fussing skittishly over the controls.

He dashed forward. "Up and aside, pal," he snapped.

The man took his angry eyes from the controls and glowered up at Carth, clearly ready to argue if need be.

"Just _move aside, _Canderous!" Bastila hissed through her teeth.

The man named Canderous muttered some Mandalorian-sounding expletive under his breath and stood, gesturing to the empty seat before shoving past Carth. "All yours, ma'am..." he grumbled, shouldering his way out of the cockpit.

Carth sank into the pilot's seat, brushing his fingers along the surface of the controls, feeling their shivers beneath his touch.

"Let's hit the sky 'til we see lines," he mumbled, easing into the thrusters, listening for the contrabass roar of sublights as he swept his gaze out past the tinted canopy, which was already starting to collect the ash and soot drifting up into the atmosphere.

All around them, Taris was burning.

His heart pounding its presence clear beneath his ribcage, Carth spared a brief glance at his comrade over the partition––he couldn't even begin to imagine what pain she must be feeling through the Farce, or the Force...or whatever it was called. But her face remained stony and blank, the only sign of anguish present on her features being the way her mouth was pursed tight, or how her knuckles banded bone-white to the flesh against her grip on the yokes. And for a moment, Carth actually almost felt a pang of humanity surface for the young Jedi.

Then he returned to the present and focused his mind on the situation at hand, fighting the memory of Telos that whispered into his head as he navigated the ship from the gaining storm of fire.

**.::.**

The_ Ebon Hawk_ streaked up into the atmosphere, breaking the clouds and shuddering through the planet's gravity well as dusky skies slid past the canopy and faded to the boundless black trench of stellar infinity. Stepping into the cockpit, Fallon spotted the blockade outside glinting in the starlight.

He'd just made it over the threshold when explosions began to buffet the ship.

Carth fought the yokes as the next round of blasts nearly knocked the _Hawk_ from its trajectory. He glanced down at the scanning readout and cursed. "Incoming fighters!" he warned, then turned his head to Shan. "Any suggestions, _Commander?" _

Commander Shan's jaw tightened as she swept her eyes over the star charts. "Just...stay on course. Plot a jump for Dantooine––there's a Jedi enclave there where we can find refuge." she said, to Fallon's eye noticeably forcing her voice stay at an even pitch.

She twisted around in her seat, and looked up at him. "Get to the gun turrets. You have to hold those fighters off until we can get the coordinates punched in."

"I–yes, Commander––" he stuttered, stepping back over the threshold and turning, his shoulders catching wedged in the cramped space and nearly throwing the rest of him toppling off balance. He stumbled back into the main hold, disoriented, confused, startled and shaken. He was afraid––no _terrified––_his turbohammering heart still ripped wide open and bleeding some kind of blind pain that felt strangely distant from fear.

And then he spotted Mission, huddled in a shaking, stricken ball beside Zaalbar––

_Afraid..._

And the sight ignited a sizzle in his blood––and the sizzle kindled rage in his nerves, turning his confusion into a fiery wash of nuclear flame that swallowed his fear and spat it out as ash, flash-freezing his pain into the voice of a cold, ancient dragon nestled within the sinewy void torn into his heart: a demon of times lost, of memories forgotten––of things cold and broken.

...and not quite dead enough.

And amid his confusion, the dragon began to snarl inside his head, it's eyes as cold as the endless dark wheel of the universe outside, it's voice sounding like the earliest memory he'd made upon exiting the womb and embracing the new light of his new world, feeling like the whispers of the Force that had eaten life alive just quantum moments before the bombardment had begun.

The dragon offered a whisper, wrapping him in a blanket of darkness, and like a warm hand on his shoulder directed him through the unfamiliar corridors of the ship, releasing him with a breath of confidence at what he assumed––no, what he _knew_––to be the right alcove.

He gripped the ladder with either hand, and he pulled himself up, heaving his body into the compartment as yet another round of hailfire rocked the ship and lit up the breathless maw outside the canopy with strokes of brilliant, blazing fire.

The dragon breathed reassurance, and his legs folded and he sank into the gunner's seat, his hands settling on the cold yokes.

And all at once, in one blazing moment, the dragon slithered deeper inside, morphing into the rage that sank into his bones and melded with the conforms of his body––rage that, no matter how badly he would have liked to fight it, whispered and beckoned, and tugged at every corner of morality within him, burning his nerves raw and yet cooling down them symbiotically, taunting him with every seductive touch.

From his heart a message catapulted itself sleeting to his brain––and clarity blossomed.

_Oh, _he thought in a voice too calm to be his own, _I get it now..._

What he felt inside interlocked hands with his own, talons of fire to fingers of flesh...and became a weapon.

Somewhat nervous, he lowered his firewalled nerve to the floor, watching its sink and fold over on itself like a silken curtain as the dragon took control. With vector pedals for feet and scanners for ears and cannons for fists, Fallon closed his human eyes and fired the first shot, and felt the fire erupting from the turret's muzzle, breathing from the maw of the dragon itself.

**.::.**


	15. Chapter Twelve

**Okay guys, here we go - - again! :) Might be a little rushed, but it's getting trickier to organize now. **

**And speaking of organization, I've got an apology for the Guest who left a review on the 25th - - your review came in a couple days late, so sorry I didn't respond to you through the last chapter. Anyway, I do agree that the part with Malak and Saul didn't have much to it, and I know it could ****_definitely_**** use a little fixing up. It's actually something I intend to do, once I finish the story and I can go back and clean the structure more ('cause it's definitely got some flaws I need to patch up). But thanks anyway for the review and I hope you like the upcoming chapters! This one is dedicated to you, Guest! :) Enjoy! **

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**CHAPTER TWELVE**

Night fell over the Jedi Enclave.

On the rooftop landing pad, the knee-high form of Master Vandar Tokare stood motionless in the shadows, his hands folded over the head of a gnarled twist of wood, his oddly flexible ears perking to the sweet, whispering breeze that rolled off the tallgrass below.

He lifted his head and picked out a single falling star from the lattice of twinkling gold, far above.

The vessel had moved through atmospheric entry just moments prior, unmarked and unclassified. And yet the lone candlelight cradled within the sublit, durasteel skeleton told Tokare all he need know––the Dark Lord's presence graced the world of Dantooine around like a reignition of nuclear fusion in a degenerate star.

He felt a presence at his shoulder and turned to find Master Lamar beside him with a dark scowl gathering on his brow. Neither of them spoke as the vessel swung into landing, howling repulsors kicking greasy swirls of dust into the night air, whipping either Masters' cloaks out behind them. The hatch lowered and spilled yellow glare onto the landing pad, and a lone figure descended the corrugated access ramp.

Bastila Shan strode out to meet them. "Masters," she greeted, inclining her head in a respectful bow.

"Young Shan," Tokare returned calmly, "It is good to see you're well."

Lamar's presence darkened. "Taris––it was felt..."

Memory of the planet's death, frozen deadlocked in the Force, dropped to an echoing silence as the three Jedi allowed grief to take them for a moment.

Then they let it flow out of their lives.

In a winking brush of the Force, Tokare thought he glimpsed a void deep within young Shan, cold and empty, raw around the edges––then it was released, and he only found a precarious calm.

His eyes went narrow, and his ears flattened along his skull. Lamar beat him to speaking.

"I trust the Dark Lord is with you?"

Shan nodded slowly. "He is," she said, then lowered her head, "––but we should call a convention upon the council. There is...much to discuss, before you meet with him."

**.::.**

The Council Chamber on Dantooine had always offered a peculiar sense of comforting serenity.

From the ring of softly curving chairs, Bastila was silent, listening to the hum of warm, docile power around her, her eyes casting shadows through the circlet of crystalline transparency that wrapped around the chamber and looked out to the plains beyond.

Dawn was on the rise.

Sunlit clouds twisted up from the distant slash of red-limned horizon, staining the mountains and foothills together in scarlet glare until the landscape looked as if it had caught fire. Bastila couldn't count how many times she'd seen this world in her dreams. _Probably an entire lifetime more, _she thought numbly, _since these past few years..._

The total sum of Masters seated around her had reached a quorum nearly four hours after she'd made planetfall. Yet there were countless less faces here than she had once recalled seeing, years before the inception of the wars.

Sunlight sparkled in through the window and cast itself upward on the aged, weathered faces of Tokare and Lamar and Dorak––the only three Masters physically-present on the Council. In two separate seats stirred the projected holopresences of Zhar Leston, who was currently on a private shuttle en route back to Dantooine, and Nomi Sunrider, who would shortly be making planetfall in the Core Worlds.

The rest were now there only in spirit.

Dorak leaned forward in his seat, folding his dark hands. His face looked as if he had aged ten years since the last time Bastila had seen him. "These dreams––are they premonitions?"

Bastila shook her head. "More along the lines of memories." she said carefully_._

Opposite from Dorak, the holopresence of Zhar Leston flickered. _"He said they were about you, about his capture––clearly his conscious is beginning to resurface his old memories. Such things cannot be repressed forever."_

"And I don't believe they'll cease to keep returning." Bastila said, "But the way he spoke of them...he made it sound as if he was more of a _spectator_ in the dreams, rather than himself."

Lamar stirred somewhat uncomfortably in his seat. "Rather than his _old_ self, you mean..."

A moment of silence.

Master Tokare thumped the floor with his cane. "This news...is most disturbing." he said. Bastila found that him speaking felt out of place, since he was traditionally the last Councilor to speak. "Perhaps these dreams he's envisioned are directed by the Force––"

"The Force?" Lamar almost snorted, "You're actually saying that the Force is _willing _him to recover his former identity?"

Tokare's ears flattened against his skull. To his left, the holopresence of Sunrider spoke. _"Whatever the Force may will, we must keep him in position against the Sith. He's our best hope of winning this war––perhaps even our _only_ hope."_

"The mission was our intent to uncover some part of his past, some recollection, that would lead us to the source of Malak's strength." Dorak reminded, "Even if his conscious is reviving slowly, surely some eventual memory will resurface to our gain. Perhaps the Force _does_ will of this, if only for our advantage."

Vandar sighed darkly. "And what happens if he recovers his former identity before something to our advantage is discovered?"

"_Do not forget that he's also recovering his old power, as young Shan says." _Leston added, _"From your recollection of the events on Taris, you say he displayed acts of the Force."_

"Several," she said, nodding. "I...decided to tell him that the Force was just working through him, but I'm sure he must suspect otherwise by now."

Tokare took this with a slow, serious nod, turning his wrinkled gaze over the other Councilors. "Then perhaps," he said slowly, "this too should be used to our gain."

Lamar's brow furrowed. "You're not actually suggesting we retrain him in the ways of the Force?" he said, "His connection is wild, untamed––I can feel it even from here. It would take _years_ to discipline him. Teaching a child already is difficult––how much harder would it be for an _adult?"_

Sunrider's holopresence flickered as she shifted to face Lamar. _"But now that his power has again begun to manifest, can we safely ignore it?"_

Tokare sighed gruffly, resting his chin on the head of his cane. "Restoration of his memories will continue as time progresses, inevitably, no matter if we understand why or not." he said grimly, "But he lacks proper reserve, and his more... _unrestrained_ emotions will only worsen the circumstances placed on the Order––the power of the dark lays gnarled on the path to the light, and the future remains clouded, too difficult to see."

He dipped his chin and continued, "Traditionally, we would not accept adults for training...but these are desperate times, and they are of rare exceptions."

Silence stood. Lamar looked around the chamber with a deepening frown; his eyes stopped on Bastila. "You say he's loyal?"

"_Fiercely _loyal," she said, nodding once. "But, as Master Tokare says, the lure of the dark side has grown perilously strong. I fear such aggression may prove dangerous, and not just to himself."

"_Yet this is only further reason to accept him for guidance, for discipline––to balance him out before he strays too far." _Sunrider's holopresence put in. _"...the Order is always open for recruits to stand against the Dark Lord."_

Dorak nodded gravely, "Then we must act soon, train him to our advantage for what time we can before we send him on his way."

Bastila blinked. "Send him on his_ way_––_?"_

Leston's holopresence turned to face her. "His memories will return, slowly, and soon the Force will uncover to us some knowledge of his reign that will bring down Malak."

Bastila brought a hand to her eyes and sank in her seat. The floor seemed to be shifting like the deck of the Endar Spire. "You're planning on sending him back _out_ there? Do you know how many––" _dangers are waiting?_

Lamar lifted an eyebrow. "Do you have a different sentiment, Shan?"

"Of course not! But––" She choked her voice to a tight stop, then inclined her head. "Forgive me, Masters. I _don't_ have any better judgment..."

The blue ghost of Sunrider's holopresence shimmered as outside sunlight poured into the chamber through a break in the clouds. _"Then it's settled. We train him once more, and we act fast––if the Dark Lord is to be stopped."_

Vandar nodded approvingly. "Agreed."

The council assented. They turned their faces on her. "Shan?"

She hesitated, then forced the rod of durasteel that was her neck to bend on the anvil of her mind so she could nod in turn. "...agreed."

**.::.**

Revan's meeting with the Council could have gone better, to say either the most, or the least.

He'd been tense beside Bastila during the walk from the Ebon Hawk, his anxiety rippling behind the quiet mask of his face as he came to a standstill in the mosaic center of the Chamber, motionless as a rock. There had been no introductions, no preliminary explanations, not even a modicum comfort expended from the Masters––they had only plunged into questioning him, and at great length, seeking his level of knowledge and point of insight.

He hadn't interrupted once.

When they cut him off, he wasn't as fast to strip the skin raw from his temper as Bastila could have been. He listened intently to every single word the Masters advised, doting upon each syllable as if they were magnetic jewels capable of keying the answers to the universe. Every fault directed his way had been taken with calm, deliberate ease, and every question was answered in his typical halcyon demeanor––

And yet they all felt it.

Even _Bastila_ had seen it––

A spider-knot of the dark side was tangling with his mind, woven by the sinewy tendrils of his stricken heart, sticking to the walls of his conscious like an oil sludge and rolling with the deep thunder of a deadly winter storm.

The entire time he had stood there, not one smile had graced his face.

And not one light had struck in his eyes.

**.::.**

Her room sat in the south wing of the Enclave, the last door behind a curve of wall that was plastered with ore-embedded limestone compounds, which sparkled when the sunrays came in through the view-wall and pierced the gloom.

The door slid aside, allowing her entry over the threshold––

The room beyond was cold and gray, foreboding, as if it had faded from the memory of life itself. The air was heavy with the smell of dust that typically settled over a long period of vacancy. She traced a hand along the wall as she stepped inside, hardly detecting the faint whispers of her own presence tuned cold to the lost years of her touch.

When the door zipped shut behind her back, she startled not because of the derelict space around her, nor the atmosphere, nor the absence of her own self within it––

But rather because she felt another presence entirely.

For an immensely long-lasting second, she swept her eyes over the dusty surfaces around her, feeling small under their hard stare. She was alone, with only her shadow to face the sunshine bleeding weakly through the curtained window.

It took her less time than she would have thought, for her to realize that the presence she felt was coming not from any one living being, but rather from one lone, inanimate-crafted object that hummed with enough echoes of the past to be mistaken for true sentience.

Through the ceramic shell of a single dislodged tile in the floor, it was staring, pleading silently, whispering not through the Force but rather through some ancient link in her conscious, or her cons_cience_, observable only by her own mind's eye––

Calling in the dragon's voice...

She lowered herself onto the edge of her mattress, sitting stiff and tense as though someone other than herself, perhaps a stranger, had dreamed there in the past. Silence arced itself over her form, resonating only with the power of the Force inside––

Then she was on one knee, prying up the loose tile with her fingers. Beneath the tile was a cracked slap of permacrete foundation, and a fissure about the width of both Bastila's hands put together. She reached down into the break, carefully avoiding the few wrapped objects stowed inside as if they'd been tainted by the one that she now retrieved.

Seating herself back on the bed and flicking the lock on the door down tight with a single twist of her mind, she set the object on her lap––and she slowly began to unwrap it from its swath of rippling black cloth.

The rough cloth fell away and let her eyes meet the faceplate of a scarred metal helmet, and her fingers gently brushed the hairline cracks wrought into its chipped red-and-gray grooves.

Revan's mask.

For an eternity split into one minute fraction of her life, she sat motionless, holding in her hands the fulcrum of what she felt was another life completely, shabbily left behind.

–– _the outline of his mask was seared into a sketch on his forehead and cheeks, his body trapped flash-frozen in shock from his wounds–– _

_He would die soon, without medical attention–– _

Bastila blinked, and the mask nearly slipped from her numbing fingertips. She drew her knees up to her chin and set the relic down before her, and watched it weigh into the bedsheets. Even now, a year later, she could still feel him within the object, the baritone sonority of power crawling over the chipped surfaces like a resonant cancer, filling the thin cracks like cold, black water sipped from the pools of the dark side.

His presence, she observed distantly, had remained here, molten bronze and full of rage, while her soft memory had somehow faded from what little possessions surrounded her...

She wasn't sure how long she sat there, reflecting. The sun outside burned through a slow, dropping arc in the sky, throwing shadows up the walls. Some immeasurable break in time later her eyes drifted shut, and the mask at her feet sank into her shifting mind––

_Red and gray bled across the face of a shadow-winged stranger. His presence fell into existence along with the rough sandstone floors of a dark alien chamber, brick by brick. _

_Voices, undertones muted oily and hollow, as if deep underwater, rippled forth from pitch to pitch–– _

"_Is this wise?" said the silhouette with the voice of a man already being eaten alive by a monster hatching deep within. "The ancient Masters sealed this archway. If we pass, we can never go back––"_

_Pieces of an archway fell sinking into sight, and heavy stone doors manipulated open with the brush of the shadow's gloved fingertips. _

_The silhouette spoke again, this time in a weaker voice, as if he was now fighting to convince his own self. "The Order will surely banish us..." _

_From the lightless ocean around came the dragon's cold, oily whisper. "Then we never go back."_

_Beyond the archway, sharp crystal light was spraying off the ghost of an orb that twisted washed paths through the air, synced to the spin of the galaxy gripped within arcing claws of darkness–– _

Bastila awoke with a start, staring blindly into the suffocating, alien darkness of the night-shrouded room.

She felt her presence in the dream slowly fade to a colorless sheen behind her eyes, evaporating like a ghost mist of dew at daybreak as her hand found coils of the bedsheets, then the hard contours of the mask lying beside her like some twisted phantom partner. She pushed herself upright against the wall, her thoughts chasing each other through blind flashes––

She felt another presence in her mind.

She froze. The presence lingered for a short while, like a ball of starfire scouting the outskirts of nebulous abyss, breathing not a hint of its own identity. But it was cold, and cracked, and frozen––it reached for her now, in the dead of night, when only silence was there to listen...

Then it was gone.

Only as it slipped out of her conscious and slithered away into the night, did she spot the spiked end of its tail sliding along after its dragon-form...

Her heart tripped, and she felt her spine flash-freeze to a column of ice. For several moments, she was absolutely still, frozen by the alien emptiness that now resided deep within, as if some piece of her that had been inside since birth had just been blasted away suddenly.

No sooner after she found the strength to move again did footfalls echo in the corridor outside.

In a swing of speed the mask beside her went back to its cloth, tucked back to the crack in the floor. The tile was slapped back down over the six-inch deep fissure of foundational shadow-abyss––

The rest of her was at the door when it whished into the wall. At the end of the corridor she nearly walked headfirst into the shadow who stood like stone at the intersection, bronze eyes silently suggesting that they take a walk to the Council Chamber together.

"You were...in my head––I don't know what, _how_..." She trailed off into silence when she saw the same confusion whirling in his eyes––he, too, had not the slightest clue of what had just happened.

She pressed a hand to her forehead, jumping when one of his own came gently to her arm. She looked up to find him gesturing down the empty moonlit corridor. "Should I lead the way, Commander?"

**.::.**


	16. Chapter Thirteen

**Okay, here you go guys! I know the last chapter was a little all over the place, but I'll try my best to fix it up once I finish the story! Anyway, here's our next little part to the adventure, with thanks again to stranglin and bradwart, and a huge thanks to Renee-Enderson - -thank you for the wonderful review, and anyone who is reading this, please, please, ****_please _****go read Renee's stories. I really love them! :) Anyway, this chapter is dedicated to you Enderson! Hope you enjoy!**

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**CHAPTER THIRTEEN**

Beneath the veined crystal dome of the Council Chamber, Vandar sat motionless. Heaven's stare was cold tonight, burned into the infinite maw of the universe through a billion starfire eyes.

A curl of worry––a modicum less distorted than trivial, but nonetheless a disturbance––swelled from the depths of meditation, and Vandar's steady green eyes opened as the doors from one end of the Chamber cycled into the wall. In the corridor beyond stood Shan, one pace behind her Revan with his head hung low. They looked stricken.

For a lingering pause, not one syllable of a word was spoken.

Vandar thought to himself that the pair alone, whether separate or together, looked somewhat comical––either mind before him was tangling with confusion, one handling the distress with evident curiosity, the other with a clenched jaw and a hard, overcontrolled stare. In their eyes was the storming, morbid shadow of uncertainty.

Shaking his head, Vandar only chuckled and gestured with one hand to the low, curving chairs around him. Either walking starburst of panic was sank into their seats, and the ancient Master dipped his head and studied them in turn, tapping the floor with his cane.

"Speak," he said.

After a brief exchange of looks, they did.

**.::.**

The night sank deeper into infinity as Fallon sank deeper into his chair, every word from Vandar's wrinkled mouth sinking deeper into his brain.

He lifted his head to look across the floor at the tiny alien silhouette, who sat against a scrape of moonlight banding in from the window. The Jedi Master spoke in a low, almost judicious tone, every gruff vocable seeming to deepen the furrows in his ancient brow.

"It is not unheard of, for the Force to bond––to _link_––between two people with such strong affinities to its nature." he said, his voice heavy and solemn, as if every word was a rusty weight yanked up link by link. "Such bonds have been almost substrative among the Jedi, with several back as far as the most primitive roots to this Order. But those are bonds created between Master and Apprentice, and they unfold with time."

The wrinkles in his withered face deepened, becoming ribbons of shadow. "For one such as yours to develop so quickly, however...it is rare."

From where she sat haloed in the moonlight, Commander Shan's expression darkened. _"Most_ rare..."

Fallon leaned forward in his chair, shaking his head. "I still don't understand," he said with a glance at Shan. "Are you saying I'm––" He spread his hands wide, helplessly, then brought them back together. _"joined_ to her...?"

The ancient Master's head dipped haltingly. "It would be the only description for this unusual development."

Fallon sank back in his seat and ran a hand down his face. "But..._how_––" His voice caught, and he blew a sigh before trying again. "How could this have _happened?"_

Vandar's sleepy eyes blinked. "Such answers are not known to me."

Fallon's jaw clenched. After a moment, he nodded gently toward the Commander. "Could this ––_bond..._be in part to her Battle Meditation?"

Vandar contemplated this for a moment, then slowly he nodded. "That is a possibility."

A _possibility–– _

Suddenly Fallon felt cold. He hugged himself as silence fell over the untraceable contours of the atmosphere.

In the pale moonlight, the Commander's head tilted curiously to one side, and her eyes flickered. "Could this bond have been created," she began slowly, "through certain..._vulnerabilities_...from a particular situation in the past?"

She arched one eyebrow––just a microscopic movement, questioning on the surface, down deeper...uneasy––?

Vandar's expression darkened somewhat. "That, too, is a possibility..."

Fallon frowned a little, a cold twist in his gut. Did they..._know_ something he didn't?

He parted his lips to speak––

_CLACK!_

Fallon jumped in his chair, registering belatedly that Vandar's cane had rapped the floor. "And this dream––" the withered alien said, stabbing the air with his cane. "the both of you shared it, plausibly through your bond."

The Commander leaned forward, her hair falling in a curtain down one side of her face. "But––it was more than just that." she said, "It was as if––as _if_––" She struggled for words, relinquishing with a frustrated sigh and pressing a hand to her forehead.

Despite his sudden uncertainty Fallon smiled a little. "As if we were one mind?"

The Commander's eyes flickered again, though not toward him. "Precisely..." she gritted out.

From across the Chamber, the withered alien face chuckled as if some new understanding had just trickled into his skull. Fallon lifted his head curiously. "What's so funny?"

"It seems," Vandar sighed, hunching forward and leaning on his gnarled cane, "that the Force has brought either of you forth, together from destiny." His beady green eyes turned upward. _"That_ is why you are here..."

Almost by instinct, Fallon locked a measuring gaze down the path to the ancient Master's set of steady, malachite eyes, closing his own eyes as he reached into the currents around him––

What Fallon found there froze his blood and sent chills clattering down his ribs and raking up his spine. His eyes snapped open.

"There's something on this world," he said aloud, feeling the words slide past his lips directly from the cold twist in his gut. "Something we were meant to find."

Vandar's face hatched a slightly wicked smile, and his eyes grew secretive. His ears curled toward Fallon, accusing some part of him that must have been the ghost of his soul...and suddenly the Master was seeing into his heart.

"That is an answer which I do not hold––and one only _you_ must know."

Down from the skylights set between gnarled-ceiling vines, the stars had gone cold, their harsh stare freezing the atmosphere around. Commander Shan looked between Fallon and Vandar for several undisputed ticks of silence, then seemed to catch on––

She turned to face the withered Master. "You already know of what we dreamed."

Vandar turned his steady green gaze aside and shattered the focus between he and Fallon, who sank back pale as a ghost against the shadows in his chair. "Master Dorak has often spoken of ruins east of this Enclave, where not even farmers dwell." he said gravely, a light colder than the stars outside now in his moss-colored eyes. "It was there that Revan and Malak ventured forth to, just weeks before the end to the Mandalorian Wars. At the time I did not suspect their lust for power had grown to conquest, nor had I until now suspected anything of importance to the ruins..."

Fallon shifted uncertainly, his mind struggling to dawn some kind of light over the cold stone chamber he had see in his––in _their_––dream...

He came out unconvinced. That place had just felt too cold, too _dead_, to possibly be anyplace in Dantooine's warm, rippling sea of golden prairies. And yet the ancient, withered face before him––with its wrinkles of leathery skin and tufts of silvery, moonlit hair––told him otherwise.

He crossed his arms, feeling cold. Commander Shan did the same. "And you think Revan and Malak were looking for something there?"

"Looking? No. _Seeking_...yes."Vandar heaved a dark sigh, rapping his yellowed knuckles on the twist of his cane. "Nothing is for certain." he said. "But it seems that the Force has guided you, has _bonded_ you, here with reason, and with destiny_––_notions such as the one shown in your dream are not given ofttimes as timid clues."

Silence enfolded.

When Fallon rose, he felt some aura shatter to dust in the ambience of the Chamber.

"How far are the ruins?" he asked, "If I can make it there before sunup––"

A twist of wood swatted before his path and jammed into his kneecaps, and he sucked in a hiss a pain before it escaped. Through his watery eyes, he squinted down at the small Master, who responded with:

"You are not ready."

Calm, and simple.

Simple enough to make Fallon flash-freeze against the shadows. He gave a slightly shaky laugh. "Not _ready?_ I'm a Republic soldier––I've been _trained_ the handle obstacles, sir."

Only an amused twinkle was in the tiny Master's eye. Feeling aggravated for the first time in a rather long time, Fallon motioned to the Commander, "You can even ask her––"

"I do believe you," Vandar said pensively, "But you are not ready."

"Not ready for _what?"_

Vandar sighed. "In order to face the dangers that await, you would be prepared, understood––" His lambent eyes narrowed. "_Learned."_

Fallon backed off a step and shook his head uncertainly. "I don't understand." he said, looking at Commander Shan. "Commander...?"

She bit her lip, then leaned forward in her chair and clasped her hands together, looking up at him with a steady gaze from where she sat. "What he means to say...is that you've been considered for ourtraining." she said gently. "For _Jedi _training..."

Fallon blinked.

He blinked again. For an instant nothing in his brain worked, nothing manifested. Then––

A frown touched his brow. Were they actually––? Could––did they mean _possibly_––?

All he could say was, "Me?"

_No, I don't quite think that's right..._

The Commander turned away, and Vandar nodded mildly. "Traditionally," the ancient Master said, "we do not accept adults for such training. But you..." He sighed, thumping the floor with his cane and making Fallon jump. "You are a_ special _case..."

_Well, I _must_ be–– _

"I don't, I'm not––" Fallon had gone still. He felt a cold, empty void opening up in his chest.

_Gods, is this some kind of joke? _

He swayed, feeling dizzy, and collapsed back into his chair. For a moment he realized he couldn't see his own two hands in front of him through the thickening shadows of the night.

"Me...?" He shook his head as if he could shake this whole _concept_ out through his ears. Did he honestly even _want_ this?

––_no, of _course_ not..._

He looked back up, jumping in his skin when he found both Jedi staring intently back at him. He spoke in a small, cautious voice. "Don't I have a choice?" he said, "_Don't_ I?"

Master Vandar shook his head gravely. "The Force is acting through you as it acts through Bastila. Yet even so you are not strong enough to face the future, not even together." he said, "You must understand that there is little choice in this matter, for you _or_ for us. Across the galaxy the numbers of our Order dwindle. We have sent many in quest of a way to thwart Malak's advance." A shadow swept over the Master's sad, tired eyes. "Many have not returned..."

Fallon felt like he'd been punched in the ribs. "And...and you think that I––that the _Commander_ and _I_––have been brought together to destroy Malak?"

The Commander's expression clouded. "The Sith hunt the Jedi down like animals, ambushing and assassinating wherever we're found. That's what almost happened to you and I, above Taris." she said, then she dipped her chin and focused on the floor between her feet. "We fear that it's only a matter of time before even _this_ refuge is discovered..."

Fallon felt his expression soften somewhat. "But other Jedi..." he said, looking between the two Jedi in front of him. "they've fallen...haven't they?"

The Commander appeared to stiffen, and Vandar looked pained. "Those who have embraced the dark side have given their allegiance to the Sith and their Dark Lord." he said gravely, "The lure of the dark side is not easy to resist––Malak's power grows as more planets fall to his armies."

Then Vandar's eyes became somber, opening up to something that looked every day old as he surely was. "If he is not stopped the Republic will fall, and the Jedi will be hunted to extinction. The galaxy will enter a time of darkness and tyranny not seen for a thousand generations..."

Fallon blinked, barely registering that his own eyes had misted, and he ducked his head. Staring at his lap, his eyes fixated on a fray at the cuff of his sleeve––

He couldn't focus on this without starting to shake.

"I won't fall."

This was at first meant more for himself than to anyone else around––and they seemed to understand. He met the ancient green stare across from him, then the Commander's basalt gaze, then back again.

"I promise."

But neither of the Jedi returned sincerity through his stare. Their presences only seemed to drown in shadow––

Fallon only began to drown in their silence. Outside a wind now rolled off the plains, and Fallon thought he heard familiar whispers...

Then the tiny, withered Jedi Master rose and hobbled to the doors. "I decreed that you and Bastila will investigate the ruins, once this Council deems you ready." he said, leaning on his gnarled cane as the doors cycled open. "Then let us hope that our hope does not need to take us from there."

**.::.**

Carth stood in the shadows of the comm hold aboard the Ebon Hawk. Faced before him was the life-sized holoscan of Admiral Dodonna, projected from a comm center in the heart of the Republic.

Even through the fuzzy ghost-light of holoscan Carth could spot the permanent scowl on her face.

"_You evaded the destruction of Taris––but where are your current whereabouts?_

Carth took a quick breath, squeezing his hands together as his back. "The Masters here have asked that I don't give their location."

"_Masters? There are Jedi with you other than Shan?"_

"That's all I can say."

The Admiral's holoscan flickered in and out of focus as she took a step back. _"Then...you've taken retreat at a hidden Jedi refuge?"_

Carth felt his jaw clench, but his face otherwise remained impassive, set and square as stone. "Admiral, with your assent...I'm requesting leave, or at least an absence."

A flicker of surprise came over her face. _"And––?"_

He dipped his chin, "It would be short-term, of course––I'll only rest once the Republic is safe." he said, then continued, "But all I can say for my absence is, until my return, I need to be withdrawn from any trivial external communication. I've..." He sighed, then continued, "...in pursuit of the Republic's sake, I've decided to divert my course of action––"

"_Meaning that you've sided yourself with the Jedi."_

Carth's teeth ground together until white bands of pain stretched through his jaw. _How in hell––?_

He said, "Mostly, yes."

"_Can I ask why you've done this––and can I get an answer?"_

He smiled a little and shook his head. "The..._business_ I've redirected my presence upon is important. _Direly_ important."

"_And this is going on your experience or you instinct?"_

"Both, I think."

The Admiral fell silent, as if contemplating. _"Can I ask for better clarification?"_

"No," Carth replied. "I can't risk jeopardizing the current undertaking. The stakes are high, and the margins seem to be slim."

"_When are they never?"_

Carth took a deep breath, now filled with frustration and what he felt would soon dawn as disappointment. "Never."

Dodonna's lips pursed slowly. _"Have you at least propriety for your diversion?"_

"No, not exactly––"

"_We can't have one hand of the Republic not knowing what the other is doing, Onasi."_

"I know." Carth said quickly, maybe a little _too_ quickly. He silently berated himself. "And a better excuse and a reason for my absence will arise, I assure you, Admiral. I'll contact you straightaway when one does, with as best an exposition as circumstances allow me."

"_And is _this_ going by only your instinct?"_

Carth swallowed down his frustration. "I feel so." he said, "But as a long-time military partner and...if I may presume the honor...as a _friend_––" He shook his head, "please, Admiral, just..._trust _me."

Dodonna was silent for a long stretch of time, lips pursed, eyes narrowed, brow pinched. Slowly, the Admiral nodded. "Very well, then." she said slowly. _"I don't know what you've gotten yourself into, Onasi...but I approve, for the most part. I'm assenting your withdraw until further notice on your behalf." _

"Thank you, Admiral––"

"_You don't come back with a justification to the board, and it's your career that's been jeopardized." _

The holoscan flickered to nonexistence before Carth could reply.

**.::.**


	17. Chapter Fourteen

Okay guys, here we go! Sorry if this took awhile :P

Anyway...I know most of you guys have been anticipating the whole Revan/Bastila relationship, and I apologize that it wasn't addressed earlier on in the story. So I've tried to introduce it a little in this chapter, so tell me what you think. And sorry if it's a little choppy, but I've been going back and forth to writing and studying between time frames.

And as for reviews, thank you DarthNacho, ShiftSpaceCow, spectre4hire, Anomandaris90, CloudZ1116, fullhans1, and bradwart - - this chapter is dedicated to you guys, as well as everyone who started following/favorite-ing this story throughout these past few weeks. You guys are really what keeps me writing :)

Okay, so read on!

* * *

**CHAPTER FOURTEEN**

_one week later..._

The vaulted hallway was deserted save for Bastila and Zhar Leston, whose footfalls rang out down the corridor. Bastila squinted through the sunrays which were streaming in through the windows and casting shadows up the walls, and she glanced at the twi'lek Master alongside her.

"And..." she said slowly, her hands tucked into the sleeves of her robes, "his progress is––?"

"Phenomenal." Leston replied dryly, his tired opalite eyes blinking cumbersomely, the mauve skin around his lekku wilting and spotted with age. "Perhaps _too_ phenomenal..."

Bastila's brows drew together. "It's alarming?"

Leston dipped his head, "Very."

Bastila bit her lip. "If he's recovering his former power this quickly, then how much time do you suppose we have until..." She trailed into silence and lifted an eyebrow, her stare deadlocked absently on the corridor ahead of her.

Leston understood. His expression darkened as they rounded the corner and stopped before the filigreed doors to the meditation chamber. The Master waved the doors open with one wizened pink hand and continued to speak. "My own guess would perhaps––"

It was as far as Leston came to a complete sentence, before he caught sight of Bastila's astounded expression.

He followed her gaze into the chamber beyond.

What the two Jedi found there stunned their spines with a cold chill. Every unsecured object within the chamber––chairs, tables, holobooks––had been lifted into the air, and now were dragging languid paths through a circling swarm of objects that whirled around Revan's head. Revan himself sat cross-legged in the medial of the halo of objects, his eyes closed and his face set. His hands were outstretched palms-up, as if cupping an invisible energy wrapped around what appeared to be a suspended mass of components––

…_lightsaber_ components...

Bastila blinked, suddenly numb and dumbfounded, and watched a small pitted extension––a pliable power insulator of some sort––slide over what appeared to be a ditanium cell, suspended centimeters over Revan's open palms, capping the end of a polished metal cylinder that Bastila assumed would soon become his new lightsaber.

She startled when a chair swooped low and nearly caught her across the knees. It took her a moment to realize that Revan, too, was suspended in air, just a meter off the mosaic floor.

Bastila tore her eyes away from the loose airborne lightsaber schematic and turned her astonishment to Leston, her mouth hanging open.

Leston dipped his chin to his chest. "My guess," he continued, gazing awestruck down at Revan, who seemed to have lost himself in intense, focused mediation. "would be soon." A holobook swept past the tip of the Master's nose, and he jumped back as if simply brushing the object might wake Revan once more. _"Very_ soon..."

His troubled opalite eyes fixed on the former Sith Lord. "We may have only a matter of months."

**.::.**

Through the Enclave gardens a twist of stairs led up to curve of sunlit veranda, whereupon Mission sat in silence.

Past the courtyard below the plains rippled like silken gold in the breeze, dusk a spray of inferno crawling back along the horizon like the talons of a Bastion fire dragon. It was calm here. Quiet. Mission could have called it peaceful had it not been so naked––what with its lack of monolithic spacescrapers or fathomless duracrete canyons. Here there was only rolling tallgrass and spiky blba trees for a labyrinth of gleaming durasteel, with rivers of cool, crystal depths that snaked through the valleys instead of rushing headlights.

And then the mere thought of Taris was a pain that pricked some scrap of her nerves and squeezed breath from her lungs, and kindled a low thunder in her heart that threatened to spill forth the waterworks––

Not one tear came.

She'd already cried dry her remorse for Taris, perhaps even years _before_ the planet's demise. Now all that remained was a precariously empty void inside, something neither painful or remorseful, not even guilty...but just a scar-tissue torn from the past; a cold gap in her heart where towering dreams and spiraling fears could never go––just the same blank of darkness that had sponged her parents' faces clean from memory, the very chasm of loneliness that she'd been swallowed into ever since Griff had left.

And _that_ thought drew forth from omission a familiar grief. A pain that she had never quite been able to shed, and so instead had clung onto in the hopes of finding some cold inner peace.

Maybe she hated the pain. Maybe she wanted to feel it. After all, it was the only thing she had left.

_Gods, Griff must think I'm dead now..._

Mission had grieved his absence, and now he was surely grieving hers.

A lump came to her throat. Or at least, he _might_ be...

She returned her stare to the horizon and barely gave recognition as the starpilot seated himself on the bench beside her. He, too, was silent.

Some unmeasurable grasp of time later, she said, "I'm sorry."

A frown ridged Carth's brow. "I don't think you have anything to apologize for, Mission."

"I meant for our last..." she shrugged, "civil chat, I guess..."

Carth's lips pressed thin, but a smile played out across them. "Yeah, I know. And I'm sorry about what I said, too. Guess I was just a little on edge, but I still shouldn't have taken it out on you."

Mission nodded and returned her stare out toward the horizon. Against the shadows of dusk the land had become silent and watchful, born under a sun whose fiery talons were just starting to fade.

Carth sighed, squinting through the sun on his face. "Mission, you have to know that we don't think you're helpless. Look where we are, look at what we're doing. You're not just along for the ride––we need you." he said, "But that doesn't mean you don't need us, too."

Mission blinked. Nobody had ever said that, not even Big Z––he might have thought it, but he wasn't one for words.

She glanced at the starpilot for a moment, then nodded. "Thanks, Carth."

He smiled, "Ah, it's no big deal. I know how it is. Sometimes you just need to hear a few words of encouragement." he sighed, "Kids are like that..."

Mission froze, feeling fire lick her nerves. "Kids are_ like that?" _she growled, twisting around with a raised fist. "Listen you––"

Carth threw back his head in laughter, and Mission blinked. Belatedly, she registered. "Oh, I get it...okay, you got me..." She gave a shaky laugh. "You're pretty funny for an old geezer."

The starpilot's laughter faded to a chuckle. "Don't push it," he said.

**.::.**

"Passion as to...no. No, wait––_what?"_

The tired opalite eyes across the tabletop blinked sleepily. "There is no passion; there is serenity." Leston said dryly.

Under the ambient blue glow of the holobook shelves, which branched into veins of crystalline knowledge throughout the archive's main rotunda, a bland smirk favored Bastila's face as she watched the session. Fallon appeared to take notice.

"I'm a soldier, not a scholar." he said simply.

Leston leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers, amused. "A soldier, you say?"

Fallon glanced sidelong at Bastila, then redirected his stare to the Master's withered, wrinkled face. "That's right." he said, inclining his head and sitting straighter. "I've been taught combat, sir––_Master_. Struggle, not study."

"And yet, you appear to be struggling now."

Fallon stiffened. "I'm not struggling, Master. I'm just––"

Leston waved him off with one hand, and Fallon sank back as if he'd been slapped, the muscles in his jaw bulging.

"It's quite all right, actually." the twi'lek Master said gently, lekku wrapping themselves around his shoulders. "If combat you wish," A wicked gleam sparked somewhere in his cockled gaze. "...then combat you _receive_."

Fallon blinked nervously. "Master––"

"I trust that both of you will be present in the sparring arena, by nightfall." Leston said briskly, rising to his feet and gathering the collection of slim datapads strewn across the tabletop. Fallon only watched, unsure of what to say.

Then the Jedi Master rounded a sleek curve of shelving and was out of sight. Only the ghost of his presence lingered in his chair.

Absently, Fallon averted his eyes. He began to trace one glossy, ebony swirl embossed in the tabletop, feeling the Commander's stare driving into the side of his head like steam-driven pistons of molten fire.

"There is no emotion," he reminded her, just a trace above acerbically. "There is peace."

She didn't respond; her fingers curled on the tabletop.

Fallon caught sight of her movement and sighed, then lifted an eyebrow.

Then he smiled crookedly. "Honestly, though...when you give me that look, it makes me think you must hate me, Commander."

**.::.**

Stars pierced the night and cut down through the rolling winds. Beneath the observation dome of the sparring chamber stood Fallon, who was quietly studying the Commander, who sat against the far wall and fumbled with her lightsaber, which, comically, appeared to be providing her endlessly with an inanimate, almost blind rise of frustration. The resentment was incontrovertible on her face, pinched into her brows and burned into her eyes.

Fallon found that his own face bore a smile, small and amused.

The doors to the chamber cycled open, spilling in yellow glare as Master Leston's presence insinuated within the Force his arrival. From where she sat the Commander rose to her feet and strode through the bands of moonlight streaming in from the dome; she seemed to have conquered her struggle with adjusting the stubborn burn meter on her lightsaber, and she now held the handgrip tight in one hand as she stopped in the center of the chamber.

Fallon bowed respectfully to Leston, shedding his cloak and letting himself relax, flexing his hands. He watched as Leston leaned close to the Commander and said something in a low voice. Then the Master retreated outside the edge of the mosaic floor, and the Commander turned to Fallon with anticipation shivering in her gray eyes.

Fallon smiled as his hand found the lightsaber at his belt. He shrugged away the feeling of discontent that crawled over his arms when he moved––a Jedi's apparel was more loose, more flowing, than the rough, resolute material of a soldier's uniform that Fallon was accustomed to, and so far he hadn't found much love for this new garment.

He faced the Commander, finding once again her anticipation in the Force.

"A Jedi does not anticipate," he said, a twinkle of amusement in his eye. The Commander's jaw clenched.

"Cocky today, are we?" she said as she lifted an eyebrow, thumb stroking the ignition on her lightsaber.

Fallon's smile split into a crooked grin. "More or less,"

The Commander forced a smile in return, her eyes hard. She said nothing more as Leston spoke up.

The Master's voice rang out along the high ceilings. "Remember," he echoed, "this is only for disciplinary foundation, for the groundwork of your instruction." In the moonlight his opalite eyes seemed to glow. "Every Jedi's upbringing is wrought through these practices––it is only appropriate for the both of you to be faced against one another, due to your bond. Here you will master recognition over your strengths and weaknesses. Only then will the pair of you be as one."

Fallon nodded to himself, spinning the burn meter on the handgrip of his lightsaber to a low dial. He glanced up at the Commander from under his brow. "You know this is just an exercise, don't you?" he asked in a low, cautious voice.

A frown touched her brow. "Of course I do." she said. "Why?"

Fallon shrugged, "Your frustration seems to be edging precariously close to a breakdown, that's all." he said. He pretended not to notice as an icy glare frosted in her eyes. Through the Force, or perhaps through their bond, Fallon felt a cool tide drawn from the Force, inhaled in an effort to soothe the scorch of annoyance that scraped along the surface of her temper, just a hair.

Occupied with examining his lightsaber, although he knew it in and out, Fallon fought a smirk. "Touched a nerve there, did I?"

The ice in her eyes thawed through with an angry fire. "Touched a nerve? No. _Getting_ on my nerves, most _definitely_." she gritted out. And for a moment, their eyes locked, and at first nothing out of the ordinary happened––her eyes remained fiery, his steady and ridiculing.

Then, as if from drawn from a tear in a conflicting universe, some invisible, fastening element confused the rhythm in Fallon's chest and drew blanks in his mind. He frowned a little, suddenly unsure of himself.

_What-?_

The Commander blinked, too, as if she'd lost herself somewhere. She averted her gaze and muttered bitterly, as if nothing had happened, "I...suppose this is what you men consider being _witty_..."

From across the chamber Master Leston's voice rang forth. "Assume positions," he said, gracefully calm-natured.

Shaken, Fallon belatedly took a step back and ignited his lightsaber, angling it low. The soft blue glow cast red-edged shadows up the Commander's face.

His mind finally unscrambled itself.

"Commander, I assure you I'm not trying to be ingenius." he worked out as emerald fire joined the pool of sizzling light around them. "I just find you amusing."

He watched her grip tighten over the lightsaber. She blinked. "Amusing––?"

He nodded. "No need to get angry." he said gently, then made himself smile rakishly. "You're just cute when you're angry."

Clearly, visibly, his words sent confusion splitting into her composure, and for an instant she seemed frozen dead in place, a look of wordless astonishment crawling onto her face. And in that single, startled instant, Fallon sprang––his leap carried him high over the Commander's head and brought his lightsaber in range to an exposed portion of her neck––

Her blade flicked around and caught his, just a hairsbreadth from contact, and forced it slanting away. Then she slipped reverse in a wide circle, blade sweeping around her shoulders to slap back the ensuing cut from Fallon as he dropped in a roll that brought him back up directly behind her. She twisted, one feinting slash at Fallon's collarbone missing by a millimeter and disrupting his focus.

He staggered back, with barely the time to snap his blade back and catch the thrust aimed at the nape of his neck, and sidestepped––or rather, _stumbled_––outside the terminal curve of the Commander's lightsaber. Just as quickly as he'd moved, her next attack was there––one twist of his blade parried the following strike in a twirl of blue fire, and distance was granted.

Fallon retreated and began to pace in a slow circle, mirroring the Commander, staring curiously at her past the shimmering heat of his blade. Suddenly he couldn't shake a rather _disturbing_ feeling––a feeling of familiarity_, _of grasp, as if he'd been here, blade-to-blade with the Commander, before.

_How curious, _he thought.

Before his contemplation could continue the Commander spoke.

"You seem to know what you're doing." she said.

Fallon blinked, then shrugged. "I'm a rather heuristic fellow––"

She leapt, twisting through the air over Fallon and landing catfooted, driving a series of weaving, flashing strikes in a wheeling green velocity that left colorless spots on Fallon's vision.

Gradually the spots faded and brought Fallon's trouble back into focus. It was in this instant, as Fallon dropped low into recoil and evaded the sweep of burning green that singed his hair, did he spot a lapse in her technique, a liability. A slip that gave Fallon the gap to rise to, frisking his knees into a springing bend and flipping over the Commander's shoulder, lightsaber angled for the rift that showed clavicle through wheeling green intensity––

From the whirlwind strung an emerald stab of fire that slapped the side of his boot; the chamber flipped upside down––

He hit the floor with an echoing _SMACK!_

For several undisputed moments, Fallon's head rang, and he found could only lie there wheezing for air. The resonant heat from their duel rose off the tiles and seeped into the sharp stab of pain between his shoulder blades.

He heard, faintly, Master Leston's voice as his ears recovered their equilibrium.

Then the Commander was kneeling beside him. "You know what's funny?" she said.

Fallon blinked sweat from his eyes, inhaling, exhaling, painful all over. "...w-what...?"

Her expression, so he now noticed, was dryly smug. She said, "I find this amusing."

**.::.**


	18. Chapter Fifteen

**Okay guys, here we go. :) **

**Yup, this chapter ****_definitely_**** took forever for me to post, and I'm so excited to hand it over now! The scenes are a bit rushed, but altogether they make this chapter longer than normal, so I hope you enjoy!**

**Now, I had some trouble thinking of what to do with it, and so I owe an ****_enormous_**** amount of credit to Anomandaris90 (thanks again buddy!) who gave me suggestions and ideas for some ****_major_**** parts that were written into this chapter, all of which are credited to Anomandaris90. :)**

**As for the reviews, thank you so much Anomandaris90, bradwart, stranglin, fullhans1, hiruhumi, Renee Enderson, and Dan1234567890! You guys are awesome, and thank you for sticking with the story this far!**

**Anyway...get reading people! :)**

* * *

**CHAPTER FIFTEEN**

In the systems access pit of the _Ebon Hawk, _Carth scowled darkly at the damper integrals. The servomotor plate––on the starboard alluvial––was being the problem here, about as unreachable as a rusted turnstile bolt lodged in an angry mynock's wing.

He gave the caliper hitch in hand a sharp _twist_––

The mechanism bounced off the servomotor bolt and sprang back, shocking his hand as if he'd been shot in the arm. He dropped the hitch and sucked in a hiss of pain, cursing.

_Davik Kang_––for such a predominant ass, whose most prized possession had been this ship, the bastard sure could have unlocked his greedy little fingers and spared a few extra credits, if only to hire a better goddamned mechanic to _maintain_ it––

Carth's jaw clenched.

Glowering at the damper past the tangle of cables and circuits, he snatched up his dropped tool and returned to work. He barely noticed when two scraggly, alien rodents appeared at the edge of the pit.

When he did spot them, from the corner of his vision, he yelped, scrambling back and nearly losing feeling in his fingertips to another recoil from the caliper hitch, which he raised like a weapon, ready to _pound_––

He registered belatedly that he was staring at Zaalbar's feet.

Each the size of Carth's own head, either massive, shaggy foot shifted, and the beast above them loosed a tired moan. That sound meant impatient. _Moody_, even.

Carth felt he was starting to get the hang of all this garbage-compacter talk.

He raised a hand and removed the jointed, lens-supported device covering his eyes, and he peered at the tool clutched in Zaalbar's massive paw. He sighed, slightly frustrated, and shook his head.

"A _hydrospanner." _he said. "I said go find a _hydrospanner, _you big dog..."

The Wookie snarled, showing teeth, and Carth pressed himself back, as far from the edge of the pit as the cramped space would allow. _Did I say dog? I meant carpet. _

"Kriff, take it as a compliment!" he protested. He held his hands out before him, jerked them back––he took notice, curiously, to how the gesture could be mistaken as some kind of food-offering, especially to the beast before him.

But Zaalbar was not staring down at Carth's hands––in his dark, glittering eyes was a feral light, a light that told Carth he was veering _dangerously_ close to having his face ripped off and plastered back on upside down.

Then the light evaporated, and the towering beast turned swiftly away from the edge of the pit and padded out of the hold. Carth breathed relief and slumped back against the pipelines.

Mission had assured him, constantly, that Zaalbar didn't even have the courage to kill a fly. But the thought that Carth was in the presence of a beast who could rip him apart and fit him in a cargo crate, limb by limb, still held sway.

Once his heart was again under control, Carth twisted around a vertical pipe and returned to his work. A tired yawn forced its way past his teeth, and he scratched the stubble on his chin and rubbed the back of his neck––

He jumped and nearly gouged his own eye with the caliper hitch as something metallic clattered to the plates beneath him. Frowning, he squinted down at the object that rolled around to his knees.

A hydrospanner.

Smiling, he turned. The praise he had for Zaalbar vaporized on his tongue when he caught sight of the two stitch-seamed, black boots at the edge of the pit, and the Mandalorian whom they belonged to.

Canderous grinned down at him devilishly, splitting a scowl. "Good morning, Onasi." he said.

Carth forced a smile in return.

It had been only a handful of weeks since Taris, and yet already Carth had fleshed out a plethora of things to hate about the mercenary standing before him.

"So Carth," Canderous sighed, "you fought in the Mandalorian Wars, didn't you? Or were you just a tech?"

"I was a soldier." Carth growled, clenching his jaw until his face started to ache.

"Then we may have faced each other in combat. What battles were you in?"

Carth rolled his eyes, focusing on the damper again. "I try not to think about my past battles. The horrors of war are something I'd rather not relive."

He heard the merc snort. "The _horrors_ _of_ _war––?"_ Canderous echoed indignantly. "My people know only the glory of battle! I'm disappointed in you, Carth. I thought a warrior like you would understand."

Carth sighed, spreading his hands, restraining from balling them into rocks and throwing them at the merc's shin. He could break the Canderous' leg right now. He really could.

"I'm a soldier, not a warrior." he said, turning to look up at the merc. "There's a difference."

Canderous lifted one frayed, scar-scuffed eyebrow. "Is there?"

"Warriors attack and conquer. They prey on the weak." Carth's voice rose a level. "Soldiers _defend, _we _protect_ the weak––mostly from _warriors_–– "

Canderous chuckled, dark and monotonous. "Nice speech. I bet that's what you tell yourself every night so you can sleep, ain't it?" he said. Then he shook his head in false distress. "I accept who I am, and I don't have to justify it with words––victory in battle is my justification."

At Carth's side his hand tightened around the caliper until he thought he might put a dent in it.

"_Justification_ in _battle?"_ he forced through his teeth, ignoring the merc's snide grin. "So what happens when you lose? You know, like you did against _us_."

Again, the former Mandalorian only chuckled darkly, and when he spoke his voice was full of neither menace nor aspersion, not even cynicism––it was just bristling with the cold, derelict fault that drove every man forward, and pinned them down just the same.

_Guilt._

And the twisted bastard was _smiling_ about it––

"In the end, we're all just the same." Canderous said innocently, that cold grin still on his face. "Just a bunch of murderers, right?"

_Wrong–– _

A deep, guttural snarl, just a scrape above fury, sounded. Carth turned to find Zaalbar's jagged yellow fangs directed not at him, but instead at Canderous. The merc himself had gone as still as a flash-frozen cast of carbonite; the only sign of his own sentience came when he blinked nervous sweat from his eyes.

Carth's face hatched a smile. _Good, the little bastard..._

He waved one dismissive hand at the Wookie, not drawing it back this time.

"It's alright, Big Z." he said, fixing Canderous with a hard, leveling stare. "We're called even here, aren't we?"

He lifted an eyebrow, the merc hesitated, and Zaalbar growled again.

Canderous nodded, eyes still fixed on the beast looming before him. "Yeah," he muttered, "...it's even."

After a moment the Wookie backed off, standing vigilant near the exit as Canderous stepped away from the pit.

"Well, I'm off." the merc sighed in the corridor. "Just thought I'd give you some contemplation for your morning."

Carth raised the caliper, ready to chuck it at the brute's _head_.

Then he was gone, and an exasperated sigh broke through Carth and he sagged his head, shaking it only when Zaalbar moaned a question.

"I'm fine." he said, straightening and turning back to the wall of the pit, leaning around the pipes so he could reach the circuit switches. "I'm fine, let's––let's just get back to work."

After a long, studious pause, Big Z growled assent. He handed Carth what he thought was a hydrospanner.

**.::.**

Bastila leaned aside and slipped the next attack, pivoting her blade low to flip back a strike aimed at her thigh.

She blinked past the trail of energy scatter that shimmered wetly before her eyes. One swift snap of her wrist, and she flicked a spinning thrust left to catch his next onslaught, twisting his blade out of alignment until his arm jerked in pain and he withdrew.

"You need to try harder," she said past the sizzling heat of her blade.

He gave a breathless, shaky laugh. "You think I'm _not_ trying?"

"I doubt you've been _not_ letting me win."

The muscles in his jaw bulged. "It's plausible."

They skirted the empty circle of floor between them, blades pitching red seams along their shadows, color climbing the walls. He didn't bother to raise his stare to meet the gaze Bastila had fixed on him––if anything he'd grown better since their last duel. If one stripped away the excess flourishes and feints he insistently and _incessantly_ threw, his strikes came down to solidity and agility.

And that was all it really took, to get the higher hand in any duel.

And yet he hadn't.

He came on, every step firm and grounded, yet graceful, and even though his shoulders were slumping there was still a visible, willowy spring in his posture whenever he threw a swing. He was good at bluffing.

Good, but not great.

"Fallon––" Bastila sighed in frustration, glancing at Leston, who stood back at the edge of the sparring floor, overseeing their duel. Then she looked back at Revan. "_Listen _to me. We don't have time to play games––there are bigger dangers out there. Being a Jedi comes with respect, and honor, but it also draws enemies. _Dangerous _enemies."

"I just find it hard to consider you an enemy, Commander."

Her jaw clenched. "Well, you'd better start trying. For the both of us."

He hesitated a moment, appearing reluctant, maybe even a little disheartened. Then he returned her words with a shrug, saying nothing as he stepped back and hefted his blade, a faint smile playing across his lips.

Bastila drew her own blade back, angling it up and away. He sprinted––

And vanished.

Bastila blinked. Where he had been standing was now just empty air––

Blue heat swelled behind her, and she whirled to drive the attack aside.

Their blades collided with snarls of power that bounced off the high ceilings. The first division of strikes came evenly, predictable from every conceivable direction––driving them back was only a matter of anticipating his moves and countering his tactics. All Bastila had to do was slip from side to side, drawing out his strikes and striking down his steps.

It couldn't have been a minute longer into the duel, when the tides shifted.

Revan threw himself spinning upward, and only when Bastila whirled around to curve away his attack did she realized she'd been suckered––he hadn't made an overhead leap, but instead had jumped and twisted so that he landed back where he'd been before, catching her off guard in the wrong direction.

She snapped her blade back to find a circumventing, whirling velocity of blinding intensity that was his lightsaber_, _driving for her heart––only one desperate, low sweep and a whirling assault at his knees curved aside his next thrust, and granted her a gap to leap away through.

He followed in a dive through the air.

By the time she touched the ground he was there to meet her, flying at her with his blade corkscrewing high overhead. He landed a heavy overhand chop that smashed their blades into a sparking junction, which was heaved aside as he drove a parade of curling, storming blue that bent Bastila's wrists and nearly buckled her arms.

She blinked in astonishment. Sliding her blade down along his and batting aside the next thrust with a defensive twirl, she retreated.

_Well, this is trying harder, but–– _

He flew at her, dropping his twist through the air into an ankle sweep that nearly slapped Bastila's boots with enough strength to throw her off balance, had she not whipped herself into a backroll over his blade. When she settled again he slammed into her, strength _staggering_, and she only coupled the time to leap away with a hazardous swing that resembled a riposte and singed the hair on her head.

She stumbled back, blinking. Where had _this_ come from? Suddenly, not only could she _not _meet him strength-to-strength, but her frustration was starting to get a grip on her temper, and all the while he only seemed to growing more inexorably _powerful––_

And only then, as she was watching him stalk back and forth at a distance, did realization blossom in her mind like a cold, ancient whisper...

She recognized the form he was using.

It was more of a mind-state than any literal fighting style, something of a stratagem that allowed the wielder to channel his opponent's _own_ fury into strength, to attack them with their own rush of inner darkness, to immerse oneself in an unpredictable, unstoppable utilization of malignant power and grace––

To open up the gates to the dark side.

His form was called Juyo, or better known as Form VII.

Despite the rippling sheen of heat that rose off their duel, or the Force as it roiled and crashed down around them, a cold, tingling chill whispered from base of Bastila's skull and down her spine––only once, had she seen this form utilized, and yet she still recognized it as if it had been burned into her brain, or her hand, or her eyes.

It was the same form that had been used by Revan––

By Revan of the _old_...

And then he was back, shocking her from thought, impossibly powerful, swallowed in a haze of blue sunfire, fueled by the confusion and astonishment now welling around inside her and threatening to burst.

He drove a series of flashing strikes at her knees, forcing her to leap high over his head and meet the flickering snaps of blue that crackled around her boots. She landed and met a heavy whipcrack that nearly staggered her crippled, and almost inexplicably the blue halo that was his lightsaber was _everywhere_, whirling and chopping and ripping through the air with power that crashed down upon her blade and forced her to give ground––

And then he was at her back, raining blows upon her defenses. Now _she_ was in a struggle––she couldn't quite grasp how quickly the tides had shifted. They were now nearly toe-to-toe, blades spinning faster than before, flares of energy spitting and crackling from the cascade of burning color that had swallowed them under, like the maw of some snarling prismatic beast.

Finally _he_ retreated, twirling his blade in a low arc and swinging it forth so that it slammed into hers. Crushed, she staggered back a couple of steps before she leaned into the attack, forcing her weight against the sizzling cross now locked at their chests. And for a small while they stood rooted in their struggle, strength to strength, mind-to-mind.

And then, like in their first duel, their eyes met, and they locked, and they refused to _un_lock. And like before, in Bastila's chest her heart palpitations lurched and crashed against her ribcage, seeming to swell and threatening to blast the longer molten bronze stared through her––

He slipped right.

Still leaning into the steep angle of the lock, Bastila stumbled forward, tripping around to catch the glizade of blue that grazed her blade and whipped around to appear on her left, crashing down and knocking her own blade aside, buckling her wrists––

Her lightsaber slipped from her fingers; it clattered to the floor at her feet and deactivated––

And for a rather long moment she only stared down at it, watching a curl of green-tinted smoke rise from the emitter matrix and sparkle in the sunrays streaming in through the skylights. Then she lifted her gaze to meet his, keeping distant from the coils of darkness she felt crawling around him. She was so stunned that it shocked her like a fist to her lungs when he smiled and said,

"Was that hard enough?"

**.::.**

Fallon was motionless where he stood––it was suitable enough, for him to be considered the focal point upon which every one of the Councilors' impenetrable, indecipherable stares was directed.

As the atmosphere grew progressively more awkward, Fallon found himself standing in a parade rest––with his hands clasped behind his back and his feet spread wide and parallel––just as he had done in his soldier days, which by now had begun to look like a millennium ago.

"Your progress," Leston said with a gruff sigh, "has been remarkable. _Most_ remarkable."

Fallon inclined his head. "I'm ready to continue my training, however I have to." He fixed his eyes on the support struts which flanked partitions down the circlet of window. Despite the cloak wrapped around him he felt cold, as if in the Masters' eyes was the same inexplicable dread that he felt whirling in his heart––he'd awoken this morning to silence, and beneath that silence had been a feeling that, even now, continued to twist and tie in his gut. It was a feeling of panic, of some crushing alarm that had left him breathless and shaky in bed, as if mourning a heartache that had yet to happen.

Master Vandar leaned forward on his rickety cane, fixing Fallon with a keen, penetrating stare––the same stare that had seen into Fallon's heart on the night when the bond between he and the Commander had been discovered. In a cold, grim voice the ancient Master spoke, "Soon your apprenticeship will end, and you will be granted the title of padawan."

Fallon tensed, then blinked. For a very long moment, he was still, and dizzy. Outside, fiery sunlight was rising off the horizon and throwing the mountains into silhouette.

He dislodged his mind from its state of daze and looked across the chamber, finding the Commander's eyes as if he could grasp some kind of physical balance there.

He took a slow, deep breath. "You–– I––" He shook his head, fighting a grin. "For the honor..._thank _you. I vow to uphold––"

"You must first prove yourself worthy."

Fallon startled, his instinct to smile fading.

It was Vrook who had spoken.

He faced the Master, noticing that Vrook's eyes looked barren this morning. _Sharper_, as if their warmth had crystallized over night and shattered against the rays of daybreak.

"_Prove_ myself?"

The Master dipped his head, and dark swipes under his eyes suddenly became prominent. "In the traditions and customs of our Order, as handed down from Master to Pupil for a thousand generations..." Vrook sighed, "there are the Trials."

Fallon frowned a little. From the corner of his eye he saw the Commander stiffen in her chair.

He returned Vrook's words with a steady gaze. "I'm ready to face whatever awaits me––"

Vrook chuckled darkly, sinking back in his chair and shaking his head.

Fallon's frown only deepened. "You think I'm _not_ ready?" he said, his voice somewhat overcontrolled, his jaw clenched. He ignored the look that the Commander shot his way.

"The Trials are _extremely_ difficult," Vrook replied. "Countless try––countless more fail."

_Well, thanks for the encouragement, _Fallon thought dryly, then closed his eyes as yet another voice––Master Dorak's––spoke out.

"The threat of the dark side is always present, for any Jedi." Dorak said, "You must truly understand this before you are accepted into the Order."

Fallon opened his eyes, just in time to see the Master's expression flicker briefly––_curiously_.

Dorak continued. "You must understand the corruption of the dark side." he said, then in a lower voice: "...you must see it for _yourself_."

Silence crystallized in the chamber, and a shivering chill clattered up Fallon's spine. "See for _myself_––?"

Vandar spoke now. "Even here on Dantooine there are places where the dark side holds sway, twisting and tainting nature itself." the tiny Master said, his eyes cryptic. Sunlight from outside was playing through the furrows in his ancient brow. "There is an ancient grove, once used for mediation..." His expression grew complex, unreadable. "Darkness now surrounds it..."

The silence folded deeper over the atmosphere, and Fallon shifted from foot to foot, feeling uncertain. He licked his lips, "Darkness...?"

No one spoke; not even the Commander.

His frown didn't disperse, especially when Vandar's aphotic expression hinted something that looked almost mournful. "You must journey into the grove and confront the true source of this darkness alone." Vandar said, something ominously somber in his wizened eyes. "_This_ is your task. Your Trial."

Fallon tilted his head curiously, reaching into the currents of living Force around the Masters. "You know more than you're telling me..." he said distantly, still immersed in the Force.

A flicker of surprise came over Vandar's withered face; then it was gone. "I can say no more," he said, and his ears flattened against his skull and his hands folded over the head of his cane. "Some things..." he sighed, turning his green gaze on the other councilors before lowering his head. "you must see for yourself."

**.::.**

The walk through the courtyard was quiet.

He looked as blank as a stone, in his eyes only a flat, impenetrable calm––something Bastila could understand, if only in part.

It didn't come as a surprise to her that he was hiding his fear. When she had been faced with the Trial of Spirit, she'd concealed her own distress like the winged chink in a Deralian ghost viper's thoracic armor. But now their bond ran their feelings through their minds like the blood through their veins, and Bastila could feel his worry silently swallowing his composure like the collapse of a star into degenerate matter.

He was good at bluffing, but not great.

When he spoke, his tone was so flat it sounded lifeless. "You think I'll fail."

It wasn't a question. It sounded as if it _should_ have been one, but it wasn't.

Bastila glanced sidelong at him; he was gazing calmly up at the halo of blue far above. "You're the one practically bleeding anxiety." she said.

He regarded her with impregnable calm. "Are you sure it's not just your own panic you're feeling?"

She blinked, then frowned a little. _Of course not..._

"I'm pretty sure."

He gave a slightly shaky laugh, just a scrape above nervous, and that only confirmed what she had just said. But then she noticed how distant his smile was from the emptiness in his eyes, and suddenly the situation wasn't exactly pleasant.

Bastila was still confused, let alone worried, about her little..._encounter_...from their last duel––even now she wasn't entirely sure of what she had felt, of whether or not that lapse in her focus had occurred because of their bond, or because of something else entirely. Not to mention there was the Juyo problem that had arisen, which only seemed to haunt her more and more, like a ticking timer inside her head, counting negatives until he'd trip upon the truth...

But above everything else, she was distracted by more than just her own feelings: the long, black hours of meditation last night had revealed something dark awaiting Revan in the Force, and through their bond she could feel the cold, sinking void that was sucking him down. There was a danger of some sort that distinguished his future from the others, and whatever he'd find in the grove would change him, just as her Trial had changed her.

So it wasn't exactly that she wanted to go with him, to protect him from any threat––it was more, precisely, that she wanted him to _stay._

Perhaps just to stay the same...

"You'll be fine," she said gently. "If anything this is a Trial of Courage. The Masters only chose this for you because you have the strength to face it. Look how far you've come––you're here because you're _brave_, Fallon, when not many are."

He took this with a slow nod and said nothing. After a long pause:

"And yours was?"

Bastila hesitated. A strong breeze swept out from across the plains, dragging apart a patch of clouds until sunlight poured through and illuminated Revan's face. After a moment, she said, "The Trial of Spirit."

"Self-discovery?"

She bit her lip. "Exactly..."

"Sounds a little traumatic."

She glanced at him and saw a frown mar his calm demeanor, the wind whipping through curls of hair around his forehead. He wrapped his cloak tighter around him as he spoke. "I just...don't think I'd be strong enough to face something like that." he said grimly. "Even if I emerged triumphant, I'd still be a little scarred by whatever I'd found."

_There's the understatement of the millennium, _she thought bitterly, then shook her head. "We have to accept all parts to ourselves, even the dark ones, before we can grow."

He shrugged, "If some part of me was ever hidden...then there's probably a good reason _why."_

Bastila's heart thumped painfully against her ribs, punctuating its steady rhythm, and for a moment she couldn't bring herself to look at him.

He went on speaking, as if he hadn't detected the shift in her presence. "So what exactly were you faced with, in your Trial?"

She fixed her gaze on the path ahead of her until the icy abscess of dread in her chest closed, and she could breath again, and she relaxed a little. "Maybe I'll tell you about it, someday..." she said. She noticed the faint smile on his face and said, "_Maybe."_

They reached the docking complex in silence.

Revan exchanged word with the overseer droids, standing wrapped in his cloak chin to chest as a speeder was hauled out into the open. He stared wordlessly at the bike, at the repulsors bobbing over the ground while a ring of pit droids skimmed through the vehicle's motor sensors.

He'd take the bike out to the grove, likely to reach his destination by nightfall.

Bastila glanced at him, surprised when she noticed his fear was showing now, as if the hard edge in his eyes had cracked like glass and revealed mirrors into his heart.

He wrapped his cloak tighter as the wind tried to whip it away. "I have a bad feeling about this," he said.

Bastila opened her mouth, then closed it––she had a bad feeling, too, and lying about it wouldn't help.

Beside her, he closed his eyes. "I'm not ready for this––for the Trial."

Bastila smiled ruefully. "You never will be."

He heard the gentle smile in her voice and stirred, eyes opening. "I suppose you're right..." he said, staring off into the landscape.

They stood in silence for a small while.

The head pit droid tootled a remark, and Revan looked up. He took a long, slow breath, and Bastila stood back as he climbed onto the speeder, which bobbed under his weight when his boots found the slung pedals. His hands came to rest on the handlebars.

"Well..." he sighed, then looked up and smiled crookedly. "May the Force be with you?"

"That's not meant to be a question."

He chuckled mildly, leaning into the handlebars. The speeder's afterburners flared their kicks and jetted out ghost streams of blue light, and he kicked off, cloak whipping out behind him as he faded into the distant flat of the horizon, into the darkness that awaited.

**.::.**

The bike whipped over the landscape, bulleting across the plains and dipping into the lowlands pressed between two rocky mountain faces. It was neither his gut nor his mind, not even the Force, that guided him––he was drawn to the grove, to the nebula of dark power that crawled over the landscape like a cancerous riptide in a sea of light.

By the time the red-limned slash of horizon was starting to fade, the grove rose into view––a gnarled, lightless silhouette between a hollow in the hills. Fallon leaned into the bike's drive and dropped into the valley below, stalling on retros and pulling the outriggers to a halt as he studied scenery ahead of him.

The shadows of dusk had stretched far across the grove, which appeared to have once held some sort of structure––jagged slaps of stone encircled the thicket like a maw of crumbling teeth, spidered with spiny, twisting vines and fissured cracks. A crook of steps led up to a vaulted stone semicircle, which Fallon assumed had once been an archway––

And where beyond was only darkness, a swath of shadow deeper than the approaching night.

He hung back a while, planted in the bike's seat, making no move whatsoever to approach the abandoned grove. All ready a cold twist in his gut was telling him to swing around and race back toward the Enclave.

Whatever force brought him to his feet and instigated him up the steps to the grove was precariously alien.

He drew near with caution, grimacing a little at the sounds of crunching stone under his boots. The wind whistled through the crags around him, breathing into the treetops and whispering out what sounded like hundreds of soft, waning cries.

_This must be how the dead would sound, _he reflected silently, _had they voices of their own. _

He was a little past midway to the arch, when something odd struck him––the shadows...they appeared to be crawling _toward_ him––

He blinked.

The darkness around was still.

A chill seeped in through his robes and raked down his spine, and gooseflesh crawled over his arms as he proceeded, slower this time. Not even a minute into the walk the Force whispered a warning––

A shadow emerged near the arch, morphing from darkness, and Fallon froze.

For a long pause, all was quiet. Even the wind seemed to have died.

Through the night, Fallon could see the shadow was standing still––he could sense its presence, which felt alien, and the cold, infinite power that had ripped away its life. Somewhere there was a shadowed dread that sucked warmth from its heart and light from its mind, dropping it to an endless tumult down into darkness––and for a moment Fallon only wanted to break open his chest and rip out his own heart.

He heard in his head Master Vandar's grave, stern voice––

_Some things you must see for yourself..._

Fallon blinked and said, "Who are you?"

Through the Force, Fallon felt the shadow startle.

Then it lunged.

Fallon merely shifted aside, watching the figure come hurtling down toward him out of the darkness. The shadow followed his movement by turning its flip into a roll, the glint of a handgrip sliding into its hand and hissing red flame.

Fallon sighed.

His own lightsaber found his hand and sang to life, whirling to meet the synthetic bloodshine tip-to-tip.

**.::.**

The end to their duel came with surprising swiftness.

It came by nightfall, when Fallon found himself dodging the stones ripped free of their mossy depressions and sent hurtling his way with enough velocity to shatter his spine on impact.

With a heave of the Force he batted aside a crumble of stone, stepping back and panting. He lifted his head, staring up at the shadow who lingered near the other end of the clearing. They'd clashed their way up the steps, slipping into an expanse of green-tufted ruins.

Now the shadow seemed to have withdrawn.

"This is your place of solace." Fallon said, cautiously edging away. "I know I've invaded but––"

A chunk of stone whipped toward his head––he slipped around it, hearing it crash to splinters somewhere behind him. "Would you just _listen_?"

The red bar of sunfire in the shadow's hand directed itself upon him like an accusing finger. "I harness power enough to crush the life from someone such as you!"

The voice sounded feminine, but not human––it was accented as though forced through _fangs_.

Fallon tensed. "The dark side is never powerful enough––"

The shadow sprang, and through a band of moonlight streaming in through the treetops Fallon glimpsed a delicate face, with graceful, catlike eyes and banded flesh––_beautiful._

A cathar...

He turned halfway to meet the heavy chop landed on his blade once the cathar touched the ground.

"You won't kill me." he said, snapping his blade back to bat away a side-strike. "I can still sense the _light_ in you. Please––"

The cathar turned his blade aside and landed a flying kick that knocked the two of them apart. White pain flared like fire in Fallon's side, and he barely registered that his opponent had made of spear out of her blade and was taking a running leap––

He followed the same.

Startled, she shifted her weight to soar left as Fallon whipped past her, stumbling to the ground and clutching the pain in his side with one hand, his lightsaber in the other. "I don't know what you've done," he breathed, pointing his blade in her direction. "But you don't have to do _this_."

"You know _nothing_ of my crimes." she hissed.

Fallon shook his head. "I don't. But no one deserves execution," he said, "no matter what their crimes."

This only seemed to deepen the cathar's rage––he felt a boil of anger swell through her, and quickly said, "You deserve a _second chance––"_

A roar of the Force surged forth from the cathar's hands, and dazzling, blistering arcs of lightning blasted Fallon back against a half-standing pillar of stone. He smashed through the structure and hit the rubble, breathless, smoking, half-stunned and choking on ozone. Jags of stone rained down around him, drawing blood from his cheeks and his hands, which no longer held his lightsaber. Gods, his _lightsaber_––

The cathar roared and flew at him, her own lightsaber angled for the kill. Fallon closed his eyes, summoning neither life nor death––

But only his lightsaber, which flipped through the air and burst to blue plasmatic vibrancy that mirrored the pure, electric hatred from the cathar's hands just moments before––

It sank through the cathar's abdomen before she even hit the ground.

She fell.

Fallon fell back against the turbohammer of his heart, not bothering to raise a hand and catch the handgrip that thumped down beside him. He only stared at the body.

He stared at it hard, and long.

He stared until he no longer saw it.

He blinked. _I did that...?_

**.::.**


	19. Chapter Sixteen

**Hey guys! I know it's been a while, but I'm back on writing the story - really, really sorry for the delay it's taken to post this. But here it is now. :) So...as far as reviews go, thank you to ShiftySpaceCow, Kyong-Kybis, Chisscientist, spectre4hire, JLO1, Ryan-PM, LEGION001, Renee-Enderson, Mastermind4892, invictus-hd, Sgt-Mehoff, and stranglin. You guys are all so awesome. Also, I owe a huge - no, a ****_tremendous_**** - thanks to Ryan-PM, who gave me some really great advice and constructive- criticism as a beta while I was writing this chapter. This chapter is dedicated to you Ryan! Again, thank you so much!**

**One more things guys: I agree with the idea of changing up the summary for the story. I'm just not exactly sure of what I would write, because, as it says in the current summary, I really do suck with summaries. So...if anyone out there who's reading this is good at summaries, I could definitely use some help or suggestions on this. :)**

**Anyway...hope you guys like this chapter, because I know I've really enjoyed writing it. So...start reading people! :)**

* * *

**CHAPTER SIXTEEN**

Something had happened. Bastila could feel it.

Through their bond, through the Force, through meditation or simply through her own eyes––it all looked the same. There was something dark in the Force. An inseparable shadow of dread so deep it became a physical pain, wrenching certainty from her mind and striking daggers into her heart. It was conclusively clear, as she stood out on the curve of moonlit veranda beneath the stars, that something had happened to him. She could fee it in her bones.

_Maybe he's dead..._

At the thought, her hands tightened over the rail and her chest seemed to compress, but she dismissed the possibility of him dead before even a millisecond went by. He wasn't gone. She could still feel him through their bond...

But he was in pain. Inescapable, irreversible pain.

The feeling was all-too familiar.

"You worry a lot. Surprising for a Jedi."

Bastila started and turned to find Mission step off the last riser of the stairs. She frowned, "Excuse me?"

Mission looked annoyed. "I said––_you worry too much," _The twi'lekleaned against the rail. "About him."

Bastila's jaw clenched, and for a moment her face drew tight. Then she released her agitation and turned away, staring into the night. _I'm starting to think he never does..._

She shook her head to herself, as if she could rattle the thought until it faded out of mind. Then she glanced down at Mission. "Shouldn't you be asleep?"

Anger flickered through Mission's presence. "Hey, I'm not some stupid kid! I––"

"Then don't yell."

Those words recovered some measure of silence, which rooted itself deeper, deeper––so deep that Bastila could hear the buzz of kathyl wings, from the bioluminscent hives tucked into scatters of blba trees below.

The silence wove itself tighter.

Mission sighed, resting her chin on her hands. "I haven't heard Carth fighting with Big Z lately––if anything, I think the two have a vendetta or something against Canderous."

Despite the trouble she felt boiling through the Force, Bastila allowed herself a bit of a smile.

Mission went on speaking. "Big Z's my family, you know. My parents...well I guess they're dead. It was just me on my own until the day I found Zaalbar in the Lower City."

She seemed to slip into thought, and with no objection from Bastila made to interfere, she went on speaking. She spoke about how she met Zaalbar, how she stumbled into the same Lower City alley where Zaalbar was being crowded by Vulkars––Vulkars who, according to her words, _'took off like mynocks out of hell when I screamed and charged at them, pistols hailing'._

Right. Because street gangs are just terrified of twelve-year old girls on the sidewalk.

But nevertheless, Bastila listened. Clearly Mission was trying to reach out from her self-induced exile––something that had wrested her of company since Taris.

Bastila nodded. "He's lucky to have you for a friend, Mission," she said.

And what else _could_ she say? That she was sorry for the girl's parents, or the lack thereof? That she was sorry for the direction Mission's life had taken at such a fragile age?

With a quiet sigh, Bastila glanced down at Mission. The child had a Wookie to defend her, sure––a hundred kilograms of fearsome, bipedal mass, sporting claws the length of a dathomite firedrake's head, was a nightmare in its every right. But Mission had no family, no support. It was easy to see that she had been tossed and torn and broken until she'd become who she was today. Bastila got the distinct feeling that Mission's pain didn't stop there.

The girl was alone, and at the thought of this, Bastila glimpsed herself––her _younger_ self––somewhere in Mission. An old pang of loneliness hit her like a fist, and she closed her eyes.

When she brought Mission's voice back into focus, she caught a brief drift of the girl's sentence: "...it's like I used to tell my brother––fast talk and slick words don't get the job done––"

"I didn't know you had a brother, Mission."

The girl's face remained unreadable, but something in her eyes was more evident––a quivering of grief, sharp and concise, but nevertheless pain. Then she sighed, as if she could force her angst away on a single burst from her lungs. "My brother's a touchy subject, you know? It just so happens that I don't really feel like talking about him right now. Nothing personal."

Bastila didn't bother to pry. The memory of her own family wasn't exactly open-door policy. If there were things someone preferred to keep in, then they had every right to do just that.

So Bastila nodded. "I understand," she said softly. She felt Mission glance sidelong at her, felt the slight brush of understanding that passed between them.

Then the girl frowned. She looked back over the railing. "You hear that?" she said, her brows pinching together. "Like a speeder or something."

A speeder––?

Bastila's heart tripped, and she tilted her head to listen to the sounds of nightlife. For a moment, she heard nothing but the buzz of crickets, the chirp of scuttle rats chasing through the tallgrass below. What she heard––before the telltale roar of engines pulsing on the wind––was whispering: a hundredfold of waning cries as soft as the wind through the dregs of a bombed planet. Cold. Derelict. _Ancient_––

Her head snapped around. She scanned the landscape, eyes peeled, body tense.

She felt his presence before the speeder crested the first hill. Beside her, Mission frowned. The child wasn't as sensitive to the Force, but everyone was perceptive to some level of life, and it was clear that she, too, had detected the transformation in Revan's presence, like a faulty tampering with a droid's visceral semblance circuitry.

"Fallon––?" Mission asked blankly, unsure.

Bastila made no move, unsure whether she should nod or shake her head. "I _think_ so..."

She turned swiftly away from the rail. The same curve of stairs that led up to the veranda branched left at the center, angling into the courtyard. Bastila turned down the passage that preceded the east entrance, slipping through the gates and emerging back into the night. She swept her eyes over her surroundings––

She spotted the speeder at bobbing stationary, twenty yards outside the edge of the courtyard. The bike's sole rider remained rooted to his seat, so motionless that he appeared to be an extension of the bike itself.

He was surrounded by the dark side.

Bastila stood ingrained in her place, daring not to move, until the sound of Mission's footfalls shocked her from her submerged reality. She threw the girl a cautionary look. "Stay here," she said firmly, then stepped into the moonlight and approached the speeder. She didn't even realize that her lightsaber had found her hand until she came to a standstill, meters away from where Revan sat in an almost catatonic state.

A moment of silence.

Another moment of silence.

Revan swallowed and blinked. His eyes were red and raw. "I..." His voice was hoarse; what came out was a whisper of naked pain.

Bastila remained absolutely still, ready to attack if need be––darkness had engulfed Revan, swirling around him and within him like another living, breathing being, or a shadow of his own remorse eating away at his heart and mind.

Bastila inclined her head, her fingers wrapping tighter around her lightsaber. "You...?"

The shadow within him sparked and came ablaze, catching fire like an oil sludge to a struck match, igniting into a fiery clash of anger. Bastila stood her ground. It wasn't the raging starfire that caught her attention, not the swelter of black grief that sang through him like a lament for the dead. What she saw was the tumult of emptiness carving itself in his eyes, hatching a storm of fear and confusion, plaguing him with dread––

Deadlocking him in a vice of cold sweat and prominent veins, bloodshot eyes, racking him from head to toe with a full-blown case of the shakes.

He spoke again, this time a little louder, slightly menacing. "I need," he said, nodding to himself, "to speak with the Council..."

**.::.**

Master Vandar looked every year as old as he surely was, leaning on his cane while he paced the Chamber in slow, deliberate circles. "It is most regrettable," he said sadly, "that Juhani could not be saved..."

Vrook snorted but did not turn away from the window. "You honestly believe she was truly that far gone, that _unsalvageable_?" He shook his head bitterly. "In every heart is some means of redemption. What he did is _far_ too clear for his defense––it was a repercussion of his former self, and we all know it."

Vandar folded his hands over the head of his cane and sighed, his eyes closing, ears flattening back against his skull. "All are susceptible to the dark side." he said. "Perhaps this was indeed the case."

Bastila kept her head down, staring blindly at her hands in her lap. It took her a moment to realize that it was Revan who Vandar had just referred to. She looked up. "We were all aware of the risks to sending him alone––what happened was always a possible consequence," she said.

Zhar sighed pensively and leaned forward in his chair. His eyes flickered briefly to Bastila's before he spoke, then focused on the floor. "We were just too blind to fully expect Juhani's death." he said sternly. "It isn't that we don't _want_ to accept Revan's actions. We just can't _afford _to accept them. There are far too many things at stake now, and many of them are resting on him, on his choices––he _has _to be consummate to the light. We've reached a delicate point in the war, and any deviation, any false step, can result in disaster. Perhaps even our very destruction."

Bastila's jaw clenched, but she held her tongue and lowered her head.

So they were afraid. Afraid because, even after the struggle they'd given to re-carving Revan's mind, they had instead created a ticking time fuse of disaster, a dupe that they couldn't afford to have backfire on them in their game to win the war.

The Order had taken the walk onto dangerously thin lines here––if Revan slipped back, if he recreated the destruction he'd all ready created before...

Bastila's throat felt tight. She couldn't bring herself to return _there_ again.

Zhar spoke again, softer this time. "Shan...I think you're forgetting who he really is, who he'll always be––do not blind yourself to it," he said.

Vandar nodded gravely. "The dilemma goes far deeper than any mere vulnerability to the dark side," he said. "It is the bond you share that creates the heart of the problem."

A frown touched Bastila's brow. She sat up. "What?"

Vrook spoke now, tucking his arms within the sleeves of his cloak. "We don't fully understand the nature of the bond. For all we know, any corruption Revan embraces could result, reciprocally, in _yours,_" he said. "If we can't afford to have Revan fall, then we most certainly cannot afford to have your talents backfire on us, as Malak intends."

Bastila sank back in her chair. She blinked. _As Malak intends...?_

And then she felt dizzy, and then tired––and then crushed by an invisible megaton of fear pressing down on her heart. It was hard enough that her presence––that her very existence in the most dominant modicum of her strength––could _ever_ pose a threat to the Order. Even with all of her discipline, her power still made her a potential menace that not only could destroy herself, but also everything her heart had grown to revolve around, to learn through––to _live_ by––were she to fall from grace.

But now here was another realization, a fist thrown in her face heavy enough to wipe fortitude from her heart––that Revan, the soul she had saved from death, could, through the bond that combined them into one being, drag her down into the darkness alongside him. That he held the power over her to corrupt her, with nothing but the very evil she would selflessly sacrifice her own life to destroy.

Bastila swallowed. For the first time in a very, _very_ long time...she was genuinely afraid. She restrained from hugging herself, feeling sick down to the bone. She wasn't sure if showing weakness now––especially before the presences whose heads she loomed over like an omen of destruction––was a good idea. So instead she braced either foot solidly against the floor, which seemed to be tilting like the deck of the _Endar Spire, _and she held them deadlocked in place. She felt as if she was trying to anchor herself down, as if she was all ready fighting to stay in place against the hand of the dark.

Her stomach knotted itself in a cold twist, and she felt sicker inside, both with herself and Revan. Gods, why had she even saved him in the first place? Why couldn't she have just left him there, on that burning, breaking spire of his capitol flagship, and escaped alone?

Somewhere in her mind, the dragon resurfaced, and from its whisper she knew that he would never have truly died. At least not in herself.

Vrook buried his face in his hands a moment, then looked up without meeting any one of their gazes. He inclined his head again and continued, pausing before he said, "We should discontinue his training."

Hardly aware that she was still nodding along to this, Bastila stopped instantly. She frowned. "What––?"

"We returned his power to him, his technique, his knowledge if not all––but we've given him enough. We can't afford to make him a threat stronger than we're capable of destroying, if he does fall again."

Bastila's jaw clenched, and she fidgeted in her chair, feeling heat boil in her veins, climbing her cheeks. She opened her mouth to protest, to say _something_, to _do_ something––

But the words evaporated in her mind before they could even reach her tongue. Vrook was right.

Bastila's mind turned back to her dueling sessions with Revan, when he would spontaneously launch himself back into a slip form of Juyo. He had power all ready, and he was constantly regaining it. They couldn't afford to let him become his own self. Not safely.

She looked up, reeling slowly from shock. "I won't let him fall," she said. "Not again."

She cut through the looks of faint amusement directed her way, focusing her attention across the Chamber to where Vandar leaned on his rickety old twist of wood, studying her with his steady green gaze. His ancient brow furrowed when he spoke. "You mean to say you will watch over him?"

Bastila nodded. "_More_ than that...I'll guide him. I'll steer him away from the dark every time he comes too close. He's already my responsibility––it's been this way ever since I saved him," she said.

For a long, silent moment, looks were exchanged between the Councilors. Then Vrook sighed darkly. "This isn't some game––a responsibility like this weighs heavy, and on someone as young as yourself it's unsound. Foolish, even."

Bastila leaned forward in her chair. "He shouldn't have to burden the Order like this. If anything _I'm_ the reason for this mess––"

"And if you fail to succeed, if he _does_ fall, if _you_ fall––" Vrook shook his head. "Then Malak's rise to power will become the undefeatable."

Bastila didn't sink back. "I won't fail you. And if he does fall, then I'll _defeat_ him. I've done it once, I can do it _again––_" She stopped herself there, for a moment unsure of why.

Could she do it again? If the dark found a way to reclaim him, or he found a way to let go of the light, to give in to the dark, could she actually will herself to destroy him if she couldn't save him first?

She pressed a hand to her head. Gods, she didn't know––_why didn't she know?_

It wasn't that hard a question...was it?

Zhar leaned back in his chair. "The question is...could you _leave_ him this time? It is a painful thing, to watch someone fall. But to abandon them to the fate they've wrought a second time around..." Zhar shook his head, trailing into silence while Bastila buried her initial shock to his words.

What he said simply didn't reflect the mercy of the Order––a Jedi never left the abandoned to die, never killed their prisoners, never imprisoned their killers. They lived by the bonds of humanity, of morality. This fleshed out more than half the reason Bastila had saved Revan to begin with...

No one deserved execution, no matter what their crimes. Did that not count a second time around?

Vandar rapped the floor with his cane, and everyone present started as if they had heard an alien sound, and not something they had grown accustomed to after nigh on decades. Vandar's lidded eyes became heavy when he spoke."The dark side is a fate far more black than death––it is the corruption that leads pain to fear, hate to suffering. It's placed in our hands, and yet no sentience was ever meant to hold it," he said sadly.

Silence.

Another moment of silence.

Zhar looked up. "I stand in favor of Vrook on this matter. Revan's training should be ceased from this point on." he said.

Vandar nodded judiciously, and Bastila could feel that the matter had been closed on agreement. Then Zhar shifted in his chair and turned to her, "Take Revan under your wing, as you've suggested. Keep him on the path to the light––it's worth the effort, for all we know. Every threat needs to be contained, and this goes for the one he poses––and I for one feel certain you won't let him slip back."

Bastila nodded firmly, setting an impenetrable calm in her eyes––an effort that could have reassured anyone but herself. "I'll do everything in my power." she said.

"Then I decreed he is released of my training and placed under your guidance, from now on." Zhar said, somewhat sadly, somewhat solemnly. "There is nothing more I can teach him."

Bastila blinked, a little startled that they agreed. Then she inclined her head. "He'll be given the rank of Padawan?"

"He will." Vrook said, "But he's _your_ responsibility. If you believe he can resist the dark side, then you prove it."

Bastila nodded, slower this time. She could feel the lack of sleep dragging on her now, creeping up from her weary mind and fogging her logic whenever she drifted out for too long. "I...accept this responsibility––." she said, swallowing. Just _saying_ it felt like an iron fist to her heart. Gods, what had she just gotten herself _into––_?

She rose from her chair, a little uncertainly. "I'll take him to the ruins once he's ready––once I _know _he's ready. You said the Force has been willing us there...," she said, "so there is where we will go."

**.::.**

He felt only emptiness. Cold, precarious emptiness––a lightless, timeless ocean.

If he focused hard enough, he could break himself free of that emptiness. When he did break free, he found himself submerged in warmth, and only after his eyes came open would he remember where he was––floating in the tank, soaking in the kolto that seeped into his bodily burns and breaks.

A gentle forewarning from the Force, and he felt himself being lifted out of the tank. Only when he was sitting on the edge of the medical cot, huddled in a blanket, under the electronic stares of the curatives droids, did he sense the Commander's presence. He didn't stir. He was staring at the cold floor between his feet, yet all he saw staring back at him was that cathar's face, her moonlit eyes swimming with misery.

_No one deserves execution, no matter what their crimes..._

His jaw clenched at the memory of his own words, and he went rigid and tense. He tried turning his focus inward, to ease the sudden hyperpounding trip of his heart. Almost reflexively he heard, in his head, the Commander's voice reminding him: _there is no emotion; there is peace._

He barely noticed she had said this aloud.

He lifted his head, holding her gray eyes for a long moment. Then he dropped the gaze. "They've decided?"

"You've been accepted as a Padawan," she said.

Fallon felt a near-terminal pang of surprise, yet the only physical indication of this came from the bulge of muscles in his jaw. "They shouldn't have," he said dryly.

"You did what the Council asked of you. That's enough for them, at least for now."

He lifted an eyebrow, for a moment thinking he'd caught drift to some kind of lie, or to some deeper meaning in her words. Then he dismissed the feeling and shook his head. The medical droids wheeled around him, tapping him with strange gadgets he didn't feel like bothering to recognize.

"What was her name?" he asked after several moments.

The Commander seemed to hesitate. "Juhani."

He took this with a slow nod. The name didn't hit him with a punch, not like he would have expected. It only carved through him like a blaster shot––entering and exiting, and leaving a raw-burned hole in its passing.

"I shouldn't have killed her," he said.

The Commander looked puzzled. "Why are you letting this get to you so hard?" she said. "Fallon, you're a soldier––you've killed before. This isn't any different––"

"It _is_ different. I could have _saved_ her," he snapped, and in response the Commander began to search his face. After a long moment she replied with words.

"Do you really want to believe that?"

Fallon frowned. For some nodding along seemed alien to him. "What you said...I _have _killed before. But those times I was afraid––I was put in a situation where I had no control, no power to do anything but kill the opposing threat. It was my _responsibility _to kill them. Like that Sith on Taris––he would have killed you. I couldn't let that happen in a millennium," he said.

Something about the word responsibility made the Commander cringe inside. He ignored her reaction and went on speaking. "But at the grove...I didn't find myself faced with an enemy. I found myself up against a _choice_––something that the entire Trial revolved around, something that was supposed to _define_ me."

The Commander was studying him closely now. "And, what, you feel like your responsibility was to save that cathar?" She lifted an eyebrow, then closed her eyes and shook her head, hardly seeming to listen when Fallon continued.

"Only I didn't save her. I failed to," he said. "The Trial wasn't about me finding myself. It was about how the Council would see me, about how _they_ would define me. And now I've cheated my way into the Order––"

"You didn't cheat your way in."

Fallon snorted. "Yeah?" he said, looking past the medical unit that was now examining his ribs, where the cathar had landed her flying-kick just moments before her death. "So then tell me––if you hadn't been there to butter the Masters up, would they have actually accepted me on their own will?" He sensed the words scrape up a flare of irritation inside the Commander.

She looked up, her eyes alight with a cold, indignant fire. "You––I didn't _butter them up_––" Her frustration cut out the rest of her sentence like a knife, and when Fallon looked at her again he saw the thunder gathering on her expression.

Then something––fear?––flickered through, melting down some poker-faced struggle in her eyes, and she appeared to restart herself in a calmer condition. She inclined her head, "It's just your pride making you think like this. You need to trust in the wisdom of the Council."

Fallon nearly snorted._ Talking about_ my_ pride? _

He shook his head bitterly. "I think you know by now that I don't trust the Council."

At those words the Commander's stare shot daggers into him, imposing what looked more like a threat than any kind of challenge. He simply deadlocked the stare in return. "I can never take back what I've done," he said.

"Of course not." Her voice sounded a measure softer now, had lost the cut in its edge. "What matters is that you wish you could."

He maintained the gaze until he started to shake, dizzy with anger while his brain––exhausted and slightly jaded––fumbled to extinguish the storm he felt burning through his heart. Then he relented and averted his eyes elsewhere. At the floor. At the cot. The ceiling; the grooves in the ceiling tiles. He shook his head and swallowed.

They let the subject rest. The medical droids finished their routines on Fallon, and he rose to his feet and crossed to the slant of window lodged between the ceiling crowning. He let his eyes adjust to the sunlight banding in, then focused on the hills toward the east. A storm was brewing along the horizon. "The ruins?" he asked, flat and grim.

"We leave whenever you're ready." she responded, her tone equally monotonous.

Fallon glanced at her sidelong, saw her sitting with her knees drawn up to her chin.

"What do you think we'll find there?"

She bit her lip. "I don't know." she said. Then she shook her head, almost bitterly. "We dreamed about Revan and Malak either because we were meant to or because we _needed_ to. Personally I'd rather not go on visions to guide us, but when we have so little to go on, and when the galaxy hangs in the balance..." She shook her head.

Fallon frowned a little. "You don't trust me."

The Commander blinked, a flicker of surprise slipping past her composure. When she spoke she avoided his gaze. "I respect you...maybe even _admire_ you." she said, hesitantly. "You've been a great help, and you should know that. Don't doubt yourself."

_You didn't answer me_, Fallon thought. He studied her for a moment. He could sense it––she was hiding something from him. Something had been exchanged between she and the Councilors, and whatever it was it had shaken her. _Shocked_ her, even.

Fallon dismissed it for the time being. "We'll leave tomorrow."

"You're not ready."

He allowed himself a bit of a smile. "I never will be." he said. "Besides, we've been wasting time here. It could be only a matter of months before Malak finds this planet and bombs it––like Taris."

He felt the rising clutch of pain within the Commander, and though it hurt him to know he had caused it, he was still glad it came. Dantooine held something, if not everything she had, to the Commander––threatening the things someone held dear was a way to get anyone moving again.

Cruel, yes. But Fallon got the distinct feeling that no one here, not even himself, could afford to be soft anymore.

**.::.**

The thunderstorm rolled passed, and the rain dwindled to a gentle hush of mist over the landscape. Canderous stood in the phosphorescent light of the Hawk's garage. His pack was slung over the lit top of the work bench, unfastened around a bundle of medpacs, foodstuffs, glowrods, blaster clips. He was just readjusting his armor when Flyboy wandered in.

"Where the hell are you headed?"

Canderous sighed, twisting the gauntlet on his left wrist sharply until it secured with a tight _click_. "To get some sunshine." he muttered, turning to the other gauntlet. He paused in thought for a moment, then decided to tell him. "There's been about a dozen sightings of Mando raiders, out on the plains." He gave his arm a quick jerk, testing the shoulder pads. "Word is they've been dropping raids on the farms, demanding livelihood, slaughtering like––"

Onasi had stopped in the hatchway, looking half numbly-astonished, half wary. _"Where––?"_ His voice had gone deeper, darker, perhaps even dropped an octave.

Canderous smiled at the rage he heard resonating through the starpilot's voice. Good. Flyboy was gullible this morning.

"North. About a mile from here." he said simply, and spared a glance over his shoulder. Sure enough the Republic starpilot remained deadlocked in the hatchway, something feral burning in his eyes.

"If you honestly think I'm going to let you––"

Canderous snorted and waved him off. "Relax, I ain't helping those brutes."

Onasi blinked. "What?"

"Those kath bastards have dishonored themselves. They're shamed, debased. Mandalorians fight for the glory of battle against _worthy _adversaries, not poor farmers in the dregs of misery."

Canderous could see the puzzle starting to come together on Flyboy's expression. He shook his head and chuckled. _Good, put it together, Sithspit..._

He continued speaking while Onasi thought it through. "I figured a hero like you ought to have a few streaks of vengeance left up his sleeve."

Again, Onasi blinked. He looked startled. "I won't just attack them! I wouldn't be any better than––than _you––_!"

Canderous shrugged. "Suit yourself." he said, slipping his pack over one shoulder, slapping his blasters down into their holsters. He was just about to turn toward the passage to the loading ramp when Onasi spoke up, his voice hoarse.

"Wait," he said. "Where did you hear this all from?"

Canderous smiled. "Just from a few farmers. One of 'em, Jon I think his name was...he suggested that I hunt the raiders down." he said. Then he sighed, his brows drawing together. "His daughter was killed about a week ago––there were about a dozen Mandalorians and Duros waiting on their way back from the market..."

Canderous shook his head grimly. "I'd let the man hunt them down himself––after all a man deserves to taste revenge. But then, where would all the fun be in that for me, eh?"

Carth's was red and bloated with anger now. "You're lying."

Canderous smiled and shook his head. "He took off running––his daughter wasn't as quick to react. Ilsa, I think her name was––"

Carth stormed forward, and for a moment Canderous thought the pilot might actually try and fight him. He smiled at the thought––he could pop that Flyboy's head off single-handed and weaponless, right here, right now.

Carth's hand shot out––to the rifle racks beside the work bench––and grasped a blaster. He moved past Canderous, beating him to the loading ramp. "A mile from here? We can strike by nightfall, if we move now. We can take speeders."

**.::.**

Bastila's footfalls echoed throughout vein of courtyard between the gardens and the Chamber. Outside, the sun had dropped through its arc in the sky, leaving pale hues of rose graced against the fading twilight.

She couldn't have been halfway to the Chamber when she heard yelling. She stopped, tilting her head to listen. Was that––

Bastila frowned. _Mission_?

"Don't you start trashing my brother, you cantina rat! Take that back or I'll smack you so hard your headtails will pop off!"

Bastila's jaw clenched. That was definitely Mission...

She did a quick roundabout, scanning the courtyard, and spotted the young twi'lek fuming near the gate to the landing pad, one hand raised with one finger, in particular, extended. Before Mission stood a honey-skinned twi'lek, just outside a fist's-throw, probably in her mid twenties, a bewildered expression on her face.

Bastila sighed and crossed the courtyard, apologizing to the fellow Jedi who shot questioning or disapproving looks her way. Whatever Mission's adversary said in return was in a low voice, but it was also enough to flip Mission into another shouting tangent. Bastila watched as Mission's hands curled at her sides, and she sense a storm-surge of emotions––anger, sadness, hurt––rush through the young twi'lek. Mission opened her mouth:

"You liar! Griff told me you didn't want his little sister tagging along––that's why he had to leave me behind!"

Bastila was now close enough to hear what the honey-skinned twi'lek was saying: "Is that what the hutt-spawn told you? I wanted you to come with us, Mission! I even offered to pay for your ticket. Why not? I paid for everything else while I was with that freeloader."

Mission shook her head, "No. This is just––you're just...you're lying."

"He said you didn't even want to leave Taris! That we'd come back for you after he struck it rich on Tattooine––"

"No! Griff wouldn't––he wouldn't try to..." Mission stuttered. Tears were rising in her eyes. "He wouldn't leave me behind!"

Bastila felt pity hit her like a fist. "Mission?" she said, taking a step forward––

Someone caught her arm, and she turned to find Revan holding her back. Gods, where had he come from?

Then she caught the stone-stern twist in his expression. "What?" she asked.

He only shook his head, looking across the courtyard toward Mission. "She needs to handle this on her own."

The honey-skinned twi'lek continued speaking to Mission, in a gentler voice now. "He's still on Tattooine, as far as I know." she said. "As soon as I ran out of money he left me, too. He started blaming me for all of his problems, like it's somehow _my_ fault his get-rich-quick schemes never work out." She glanced away and saw Bastila and Revan watching, then looked back down at Mission. "If you want to talk to him he's probably working the Czerka Corp mines on Tattooine. But as far as I'm concerned, he's out of my life forever."

Mission took a step forward, then seemed to hesitate with whatever direction her thoughts had taken, and stepped back. She shook her head helplessly. "Griff's better off without you anyway, you table-dancing, brother-stealing home wrecker––!"

The honey-skinned twi'lek sighed. "I guess that's my cue to leave, then. I didn't mean to upset you, Mission. I'm sorry. But one day you'll see I'm right about your brother. I only hope it's not too late by then."

Then she turned on her heel, and she left. Mission, wiping her eyes furiously and breathing heavily, sank down to the ground, her back against the wall of the garden. Bastila hesitated to move. She gave Revan an inquiring look, which he answered with a slight nod.

"Just be gentle," he said.

Bastila crossed over to Mission, Revan at her shoulder, and crouched down beside the young twi'lek. "Who was that?" she asked gently.

Mission swatted away more tears. "Her name's Lena." she sniffed bitterly. "She was a dancer at the cantina where my brother used to go play pazaak. You can figure..."

Revan seated himself on Mission's left. "Your brother left you on Taris?"

Mission nodded, quickly, and hiccuped. "After he and Lena were together for a few months, he told me he was leaving Taris. They were gonna try and make their fortune off-world––" New tears brimmed, and she smeared them against her cheeks. "He promised as soon as he made enough credits he'd come back and get me, and we'd all live like royalty. He-He _promised_..."

Revan took this with a slow nod. "How long ago was this?"

Mission's eyes became distant. She lowered her head. "Two years ago. I haven't seen him since..."

"And..." Bastila said carefully, glancing at Revan. "how is this Lena's fault?"

Mission seemed too worked up in her own rage to notice Bastila's growing opinion on her brother. "Oh I know what happened! As soon as she got him off Taris, Lena sunk her claws into Griff for good and she twisted him around her little finger, and made him forget all about me!"

Revan tilted his head, as if something had occurred to him. "And part of the reason you came with us was to find out what happened to your brother."

Mission didn't look at him. She nodded.

Bastila bit her lip, studying the girl for several moments. She looked up when Revan sighed.

"Mission," he said, "I'm not making any promises...but when we have the time, I'll take you to Tattooine."

Bastila shot him a look, "Fallon––"

He shook his head sharply, not meeting her stare.

Mission blinked through her tears. "You mean that?" she said. "I mean, I want to see him and all, but I just don't believe Lena. Griff might be working for Czerka, but the rest of her story is bantha poodoo––you cant trust someone like her."

Bastila opened her mouth, then thought otherwise of what she was about to say when Revan caught her eye and shook his head. She returned her attention back to Mission and made herself nod. "We'll find your brother, Mission." she said, placing a hand on the twi'lek's shoulder.

Mission swallowed, wiping her eyes. "I just hope he's not in any kind of trouble when we do."

**.::.**

They set out to the ruins by sunrise, with only Mission and Big Z to see them off at the garage.

"Where's Carth?" Bastila asked.

Mission shrugged and sighed. "Apparently they heard some stuff about raiders out on the plains. Went to deal with it––Carth left a heads-up through holoscan, back on the ship."

"What?" Bastila blinked and looked at Revan incredulously. "How come I didn't know about this?"

Revan only threw back his head in laughter. "Gods, we never know what goes on in this group anymore," he chuckled, climbing onto his bike and shaking his head. "At least they're making themselves useful."

"Aren't you worried we should go after them––"

"They'll be fine," he said. Then he caught her eye, caught sight of the worry behind them before she turned to her speeder, shaking her head.

"Fine," she said, her feet finding the acceleration pedals. She glanced at up Mission. "Keep an eye out for them?"

Mission nodded. "I'm sure they'll be back. Of course, that's just saying they don't decide to kill each other first instead of the raiders––"

Bastila gave her a look.

"––but yeah, I'll keep an eye out for them." Mission said quickly.

Behind her, Zaalbar growled something that sounded like a negative, and Revan looked up from his speeder controls. "Relax. I've got the Commander to watch my back––she could petrify a bull rancor by looking it in the eye, if she wanted to," he muttered.

Bastila ignored the dig at her and gestured to Zaalbar. "What's wrong with him?"

Mission shook her head. "It's all because of Big Z's life-debt to Fallon."

Bastila frowned a little. She looked at Revan uncertainly. "I didn't know about this," she said.

He only smiled crookedly, moving his speeder forward. "Like I said, word of what goes on in this group stays _outside_ of it," he said. Then he looked at Mission. "You'll hang in there?"

She nodded, looking a little irresolute but, for the most part, secure. It was the first time she had appeared sure of herself since Taris. "Yeah," she said, taking a step back, pulling Big Z with her as Revan slid the gates open with a wave of his hand. Beyond them was a sea of fiery gold, dancing in waves under the sunlight.

They kicked their speeders into drive and were off.

**.::.**


	20. Chapter Seventeen

**Hey guys! I know it's been awhile, but I finally have the next chapter here (sorry for the painfully, dismally long wait). But anyway...I just want to give a quick round of thanks to everyone - and I mean ****_everyone_**** - who has reviewed/followed/favorited this story over these past couple of months, as well as everyone who's been reading it. Please don't think any of this goes unnoticed, because I really appreciate every piece of support and advice I'm given. :) Also, a huge thanks again to Ryan-PM for being such an awesome beta. **

**Anyway...you guys all really inspire me to keep writing! So...to make it up to you, here's the next chapter! (finally xD)**

**Read on! :)**

* * *

**CHAPTER SEVENTEEN**

A snarl of lightning broke into a web against the polar stars, blasting the landscape into transitory daylight and spawning another roll of thunder that hummed in his bones. He stood back on the lip of the cliff, watching the storm devour the farmlands below as the skyline slowly bled into the night and the rain.

He counted for the distance––eight miles.

His expression darkened considerably.

"It'll skirt around us," Canderous said, as if he had read Carth's thoughts. Then he motioned east with his blaster. "Can't say the same for the Princess and 'ole Miracle Boy, though..."

Carth nodded, his skin crawling to the charge in the air, his eyes grim. Chances were those two had already set out for the ruins earlier in the day, probably at around sunrise.

He looked away from the storming horizon and focused elsewhere––

The body.

At his boots, smeared with dirt and grime, was a body.

He nudged it with one foot as fat raindrops began to hit the dead Mando's armor, staining the dirt like blood-tinged tears. He was just tucking his away blaster when Canderous caught him by the wrist.

Carth yanked his arm back. "What?"

"Better keep that blaster in hand," Canderous warned, his eyes sweeping their surroundings. His voice was low and grim.

Carth frowned.

A burst of lightning arced across the skies, and in the ghastly light he counted the bodies sprawled through the mud. He shook his head as he looked back to the grim-faced Mandalorian. "You think we're being watched––?"

Canderous' tone was just the same as before. "This wasn't the last of them," he said. "I did a check on the bodies––they were all just cohorts."

Carth's frown deepened. _So the rally master's still playing this kriffing circus, somewhere out here..._

He looked back at Canderous, blinking rainwater from his eyes. "Their leader––you really think he'd bother to target us?"

Lightning hatched thunder, and in the light Carth watched a slow, dark grin spread over the Mandalorian's face. Canderous pointed to the bodies and said, "Flyboy, we've just _made_ ourselves targets––"

Canderous stopped himself right then and there, a wary light entering his eyes, and Carth went absolutely still. He watched the Mandalorian lift his own blaster and tap the side––the recoil slide––with one finger. Carth frowned before belatedly registering what Canderous was trying to tell him––

Someone, somewhere, had just loaded their own blaster...

Carth felt his heart go cold. He restrained from asking Canderous how he had possibly heard such a noise through the rain, and instead he fell silent to the storm.

And that was when Carth spotted it––just a glimpse of rain-streaked, striped concave metallic covering, pressed into the dirt and reflecting the lightning far above––

A puzzled frown shaped itself along Carth's brow.

Whatever was in the dirt...it was blinking.

He blinked––

Only when Canderous took one cautious step forward, raising his boot, did understanding grasp Carth, clenching down on his heart in a choke-hold that rocket-punched the words straight from his chest to his throat and out his _mouth_––

"_Don't step––!"_

...and that was when the first mine exploded.

**.::.**

Beyond the icy rush of rain seeping into her cloak and chilling her bones, Bastila heard whispers––

Low and dark...hissing with the thunder and chuckling with the lightning, as if every shadow of the night had come alive to the storm.

A shudder raked her spine as a particularly strong gust of wind snatched her cloak out behind her. Revan had come here on his own invisible reason, had led her deep into the heart of the ruins––now he remained just a pace ahead of her, where they were both crouched down low beside two busted flanks of granite, staring into a strip of darkness gouged into the ground.

"Ladies first," he said, gesturing to the darkness between the gap.

Bastila looked at him, incredulous. "You're being serious?"

He nodded faintly. "This is it."

"Fallon, it could lead anywhere––"

"This is it," he said again, a little too firmly. "This is where they _came. _Can't you _feel_ it––?"

She studied him for a moment, ignoring the storm and darkness as she searched the steely, somewhat-disturbing glint that had entered his eyes.

She lifted one eyebrow, and at the glint tapered, just a bit.

Then she sighed, retrieving her lightsaber from her belt and snapping it to life. She hovered the blade out over the aperture, and both Jedi leaned in to watch the emerald glare burn away the shadows below––

Revealing a tunnel.

Bastila's face hardened in the pelting rain.

"_Fine,_" she growled, ignoring his smug look––the look which, after he saw her blade shrink away, and after saw her dangle her feet into the aperture, dropped from his face. He tensed up beside her.

"What are you doing?" he demanded.

"Ladies first," Bastila said smugly, feeling around for a slab of rain-slicked stone to stand on.

She slipped sinuously between the flanks and disappeared inside the aperture, reaching into the Force for help in landing as she dropped down the muddy banks and hit the ground a little more less than gracefully. Her boots found their way and she lumbered around for her balance, catching herself on the wall of the tunnel.

"Commander––?"

"I'm fine," she said, taking in her surroundings. The tunnel ceiling was only an inch or so taller than the top of her head––Revan would have trouble walking down here––and the floor around the egress was washed down with mud and moss.

A slight tingling started sizzling in her fingertips––

She leaped, startled, and she snatched her hand away from the wall. A frown touched her brow, and she leaned a little closer, examining the obsidian-black rock of the tunnel walls. It was rough, porous, almost carbonous––and yet it held a certain lifelike property to it, something unlike anything she had before felt. Not only this, but the rain itself––from where it sought its way inside through the overhead crags––steeped the walls with a curious, almost fluorescent quality.

She became aware that there was an energy here, making her fingertips tingle––not potent enough to burn her flesh, but just strong enough for her to notice. And from the way the current seemed to be moving, faintly reflecting the storm flashes outside, it was being siphoned to some vaster source, farther down the tunnel.

Still examining the rock, she spoke over her shoulder. "Do you have a bad feeling about this?"

She heard Revan slip clumsily down the bank and land behind her, his boots splashing through the mud. Once he found his balance he looked at her with a grim expression. "Only about as much as you do, Commander."

Then his lightsaber found his hand and came alive, highlighting blue the sopping mat of hair around his face. He nodded to her, pointing down the tunnel with his blade.

"Ladies first," he said.

**.::.**

Revan spoke at the end of the tunnel, his tone flat. "It's sealed."

Bastila brought her blade closer to the door, watching the erratic way the light fell over the ripples of energy––here, as she had suspected, the current was more established, acting as a barrier between the outside world and whatever hungry maw of darkness sat beyond the cold stone.

Revan pointed to the stone, and for the first time Bastila noticed the glyphs hewn into it––most of them were weathered to near-nonexistence, while the ones that did remain made Bastila's scalp prickle.

"What do these mean?" he said.

She shook her head, "They're beyond me––I've never seen anything like them before."

She drew away from the door as Revan extended his blade to tap it––

An explosive burst of energy flared and nearly knocked his lightsaber from his hand. Bastila shielded her face with her arm; when she turned back to Revan, he looked frustrated.

"Cortosis?" he said through his teeth, rubbing his arm.

"It looks more resistant than cortosis," she said.

Then she saw Revan extend his hand toward it. Her eyes widened. "What the hell are you––"

And she stopped, because the refuse of energy didn't blast his hand off and leave her staring stricken at a blackened stump of severed wrist, nor fused fingers, nor a twisted lump of snapped tendons and compressed arteries and veins that had been his arm.

No, the energy merely shimmered, rippling as gently as water, and spread out along his bare flesh, drifting apart in little dewdrops and reforming to the shape of his hand––

and yet, containing some deadlier presence behind it.

He pressed his palm lightly on the square that marked the center of the glyphs, and his eyes came closed––

...nothing happened.

There was the flicker and roll of passing thunder, the rain leaking in through the splintered flanks over their heads. And puzzled and bewildered, and completely saturated in rainwater, Bastila stood back, waiting.

Waiting.

Waiting, just a moment _longer_...

And just as Revan was beginning to look unsure of himself, a narrow, vertical cleft appeared in the wall––in the _door_––and spidered upward right under his palm, spitting a grimy cloud of dust into the humid air as a fissure formed down the center.

The stone parted, sliding backward, and sank into ground––

Beyond, so the two Jedi could tell, as they stood alone in the thunder and the rain and the whispers, was the embrace of darkness.

**.::.**

The tunnel itself seemed unending, running laser-straight into blackness.

Fallon could feel it all around him, within him––the darkness curling up the rough hewn walls, slipping over his head.

It was whispering and cold, and it bled into his bones until chills clattered up his spine and held him in a near deadly embrace.

The instant he had felt it, he'd insisted on entering ahead of the Commander––after all it was still his charge, still his _responsibility_, to defend her.

...somehow she had ended up leading the way.

Fallon hovered his blade over the wall of the tunnel and examined the glyphs chiseled into the stone. "How old would you say this place is?" he asked, sparing a wary glance up at the ceiling. As far as he could determine, the tunnel was running deeper underground––and he wasn't exactly self-assured of the perseverance of the structures around him.

Ahead of him, veiled in the soft emerald light of her blade, the Commander gave the glyphs a wary glance and shook her head. "I don't know," she said. "It could be centuries, decades..."

Through the Force, Fallon sensed she was anxious––hell, she probably felt overstrung enough to dismantle an entire cadre of destroyer droids with her lightsaber tied behind her back.

Fallon frowned.

She spoke over her shoulder, a slight knot of hesitation clipping her tone. "...how did you do it?"

"What?"

"At the entrance," she said. "––you knew how to open it."

Fallon's frown only deepened, and he shook his head, unsure. The Commander spoke again, her presence burning with curiosity.

"How?" she pressed.

Fallon's jaw clenched, and he bit back his words. It could have just been him, but...did she actually sound _suspicious?_

His eyes narrowed. "Just a gut-feeling...," he said.

Another wave of skepticism flickered through the Commander, but she was silent.

A minute farther into the tunnel, Fallon thought he detected a rising slant under his boots, then a decline that continued for about another hundred paces. He drew his head down to his shoulders as the gap between the floor and the ceiling narrowed.

He only looked up when the Commander stopped.

"What?" he asked, looking back and forth between the Commander and the darkness ahead. She waved her blade right, up and away, and it took Fallon a moment to see it––the walls here opened up to another mouth in the tunnel.

Beyond that mouth was what looked like a massive anti-chamber of some sort, crawling with shadows.

His skin began to tingle, and the Commander raised an eyebrow.

"Standing here isn't helping," he answered with a shrug, pushing past her. He raised his blade over his head and watched the blue light stretch out along the stone rafters, breaching the higher shadows––

Somewhere across the chamber, to his left, there came a low, rusty_ ferooo-wheeep. _Fallon spun around and snapped his blade back in a cross-shouldered ready, and three paces to his right the Commander's blade was all ready angled in defense.

Back-to-back, they scanned the darkness.

Then Fallon saw it. About ten yards away, an orb of red flame had ignited in the shadows, hovering a meter off the ground. Fallon blinked, frowning, and after a moment he realized what he was staring at––it was the sensory display to some kind of ancient droid. A droid which, to him, looked like a hybrid between an HK prototype and an IG sentinel, mounted to a revolving cylindrical projection and hooked down with jointed grappling arms.

As Fallon moved closer to examine the droid, he noticed its sensory display was following him, averaging his movements.

Ancient as this weld of scrap was, someone––or _something_––had sub-programmed it with sophisticated algorithms.

Aside from electronically stalking Fallon's every movement, the droid watched him impassively. He glanced at the Commander nervously. Her brow was furrowed as she studied the droid, and her mouth was opening to speak––

The droid beat her to the chase.

What came out was a cutting, grating sound––every note buzzing with electrostatic runoff, every whistle humming with a hitch that reminded Fallon of an infrigidate cell being filled with hot gravel. He grimaced, wanting to claw at his ears, and his fist tightened over his lightsaber until the handgrip creaked.

Eventually the droid's rusty voice came into a clear, the static becoming more muted and the phonemic din dropping into a broad, guttural sound. Fallon cocked his head curiously to one side, listening.

Every time the droid spoke...

He listened closer, and frowned.

It was using separate dialects––?

"It's cycling through a variety of languages," he said.

The Commander nodded. "I think it's trying to communicate."

"Do you think it understands Basic?"

"It might..." she replied, then she gave him a look.

"What?"

A faint smile touched her lips. "You're the linguist. It's on your records."

Fallon's jaw clenched; he looked back at the droid.

There was a long pause before it spoke again––

He stiffened at the noise, then closed his eyes and made himself relax, letting his mind draw up and thread through a lexicon of every possible word or phrase as he listened to the droid's noises. "That's...that's Selkath," he said, nodding to himself, his eyes still closed "It's archaic, but it's definitely a variant of Selkath."

He felt the Commander's puzzlement reciprocate his own. Her voice rang out along the chamber walls, "But that's spoken on Manaan––what would a droid programmed to speaking Selkath be doing all the way here in the Outer Rim?"

Fallon opened his eyes and shook his head. "I don't know."

"What's it saying now?"

Fallon sighed and lowered his head again, trying to concentrate on the oscillating rhetorics that crackled from the droid's near-busted vocabulator, transmitting into waves when they reached his ears and signaled little spikes of nerve pulses along his brain. Somewhere inside his skull, phrases began to click together––

"It-It's answering your question." he said, and blinked, a little surprised. "It...says it was necessary to be able to communicate with the slave species who constructed this temple...as directed by the Builders."

"The Builders?"

He shook his head, and continued listening, then translating: "It says––we're like the ones who came before."

Fallon sensed the Commander's presence cloud up. "It must be talking about Revan and Malak––they could've encountered this droid when they came to explore the ruins."

He opened his eyes to see the Commander facing the droid now. "Who are you?" she said, her tone authoritative. She waved to Fallon to translate when the droid continued speaking.

"It's calling itself the Overseer," he said, then looked back to the droid. "How long have you been here?"

The droid responded. Fallon blinked.

He blinked again.

"How long?" the Commander asked.

Fallon shook his head, perplexed, and told her, "...over a full ten revolutions of this system's outermost planet around the sun, since the Builders left."

The Commander shook her head. "That...that would take more than twenty-thousand years––" She shook her head, her eyes turning wide. "This droid is nearly five-thousand years older than the Republic itself!"

The Overseer continued speaking, and at the Commander's motion Fallon quickly returned to interpreting––

"The...Builders programmed it to enforce discipline, among the slaves while––"

Fallon stopped, his frown deepening until his face began to ache. The Commander was looking at him questioningly. "What's wrong?"

"It says...it enforced discipline on slaves while––" He listened again, then repeated word for word: "––while this monument to the power of the Star Forge was constructed..."

The Commander nodded, slower this time, and Fallon continued. "At project completion, all slaves were executed," he said, swallowing. Then he gestured to the droid, "And the Overseer was reprogrammed to serve, should a Builder return in search of knowledge of the Star Forge."

Builder––? Star Forge––

He rubbed the bridge of his noise, shaking his head to rattle around all the nonsense, trying to grasp some response or perception of understanding from his brain.

There wasn't one.

Beside him, the Commander looked just as puzzled as he was. "The Builders?" she said. Fallon repeated the question to the Overseer, concentrating to render the words translated in his mind:

––_the Builders are the great masters of the galaxy, the conquerors of all worlds, the rulers of the infinite empire and the creators of the star forge–– _

He repeated this to the Commander, then turned to the Overseer with his own question. "What exactly," he asked slowly, "is the Star Forge...?"

A cold silence fell over the chamber before the droid responded.

––_the star forge is glory of the builders, the apex of their infinite empire. It is a machine of inevitable might, a tool of unstoppable conquest–– _

Fallon shook his head impatiently, "But what _is_ it?"

His frown only deepened as he unraveled the droid's next electrosonic code––

He rubbed his temples in frustration. Beside him, the Commander shifted nervously from foot to foot. "So what is it?"

Fallon repeated the line to her.

"But what is it––"

"I don't know," he snapped. "It isn't programmed with that knowledge. It just keeps repeating itself."

The Commander studied him for a moment, then appeared deep in thought. "Of course not. Obviously the star forge is of importance, whatever it is," she said. "These builders...they wouldn't have just left their knowledge of it in some droid for just anyone to find."

Fallon thought about this for a moment, then returned to the droid, "And...what happened to the ones who came before us?"

––_those who came before you sought knowledge of the star forge and its origins. They proved themselves worthy, to discover the secrets of the star forge––_

Fallon tilted his head to one side, his frown gathering itself deeper. "Worthy?"

And almost as if his words had hinted it on cue, the chamber fell into silence. A deep, cold silence––so did the droid.

Then Fallon felt a prickling sensation radiate outward from the base of his scalp, making his bones clatter with nervous tremors from the Force. His lightsaber found his hand, and the Commander's eyes darted his way. He had barely turned in a full circle when rows of concealed doors dragged into the walls––

From them rolled an assortment of destroyer-type droids, their ancient cannons targeting the two Jedi's chests.

Fallon sighed darkly as he angled his blade. "Wonderful..."

**.::.**

Mission stared with disinterest at her pazaak hand, her elbows propped up against the tabletop as she leaned forward in her chair.

Across from her, Zaalbar sat in silence, mild and impassive as ever, but with a leery light deep in his beady black eyes.

Only the roll of thunder and the occasional twootle from T3 broke the silence.

Mission's eyes flickered left, to the compact little astromech peering up over the table's edge. Then she looked back to Zaalbar and lifted an eyebrow. The massive wookie let out a low moan––a bluff, frank and little more than blunt, but nonetheless a bluff. Mission fought down a small smirk. He had nothing on him.

"You might as well stand," she sighed, leaning back in her chair.

Zaalbar growled, and Mission gestured to his hand. "Then take your turn all ready. The action's on you."

Zaalbar moaned tiredly.

"You owe me anyway," she said with a shrug.

Zaalbar studied her for a moment, then moaned again and slapped his hand down flat on the tabletop. Mission sat up in her chair, peered at the cards, then sighed, shaking her head. "I'll write you off this one time––but any games after this and you owe me fifty credits, Big Z."

Mission turned to the window as Zaalbar began to sweep the cards back into their cartridges. Outside, the rain hadn't let up––she could barely make out more than dark shapes on the landing pad through the torrents of rain. She rested her head against the cool glass, squinting through the storm when something––a cluster of moving lights––drew her attention past the gardens and toward the gates.

A frown touched her brow.

Was there a crowd forming?

"Hey, Big Z," she said over her shoulder. "Take a look at this."

Zaalbar sighed and moved to the window, and spotting it he let out a low whimper.

Mission nodded, "I've got a bad feeling about it, too..." she said. "I'm gonna go check it out."

Zaalbar growled a deep warning, and she rolled her eyes.

"Relax. I'll be careful, sheesh," she said, pushing herself back from the table and standing. She snatched her jacket and shrugged into it, moving to the loading ramp and hitting the exit switch. The ramp descended she pulled her hood over her head, scanning for the gates the instant she stepped out into the rain.

Not even a minute into the walk, she heard shouts.

Her body tensed, and her paces quickened.

A glimpse of silver––

…medical droids?

She stopped in her tracks, watching the droids hover through the rain and stop, bobbing at the gates. For a moment she didn't move––something, some kind of fearful uncertainty, held her deadlocked where she stood.

Then she began to walk again, the gates still within her sight. Then she was jogging.

She pushed her way through a crowd of cloaked Jedi––some of them she recognized––and standing on her tip-toes she craned her neck to get a better look at the source of all the fuss. She heard Big Z growl something behind her––a warning––

And then she saw it. She saw the speeder...

…and the ruddy-haired starpilot half-collapsed over the bike's handles––behind him, the tattered, marred mass of flesh that she hardly recognized as Canderous slumped across the seat. She blinked, horrified, as she watched the red-tinged rain dripping from the tips of his fingers.

**.::.**

She dove under a hail of blasterfire, snapping her blade around and batting back a quick salvo of bolts––they found explosive contact with the droids' reflective chrome and combusted instantaneously.

Some ten paces off to her right, Revan leaning into the firestorm with his lightsaber whirling around him in a halo of shimmering blue light. She glimpsed him spinning his blade over his shoulder to slap away a bolt that flew dangerously close to the back of his head––he flew back around to catch another round of bolts, leaving his back exposed––

Bastila threw herself behind him, slashing her blade right to sock down a ringlet of bolts. She heard something hit the floor behind her, and for a moment her heart stalled––

She turned to find two freshly-smoldering halves of droid rocking against the stone floor, cut clean and precise and glowing molten.

"How did you––?"

He grinned like a child. "Behind the braincase," he said.

Bastila frowned as she thought this over––then, holding her blade astray from her body, she gave Revan a quick warning and threw herself into a leap that carried her high up over his head, pivoting her blade around one side and letting it swing down into a heavy overhand chop on the nearest droid––

A hairline stroke behind the braincase.

The droid collapsed. With a wave of the Force Bastila sent the remains crashing down upon the enclosing droids, just as she landed cat-footed to see Revan's blade whip around her face, redirecting a stream of blaster bolts and cutting swiftly through another steely glimpse of chrome.

He seemed to handle himself just fine, leaving a trail of smoking droid slices––

as easily as if he'd already encountered this before.

Bastila's jaw clenched, and she gripped her weapon tighter. She threw a tight, frustrated swing, curving up to fling away a stray bolt––

The blade of her lightsaber passed dangerously close to lopping off Revan's head.

He let out a strangled yelp once he felt the heat sweeping over his neck, his eyes wide with surprise. "A little too close for comfort, Commander!" he shouted, tucking his blade around to diffuse another round of oncoming fire.

Bastila ignored him and booted the remnants of another droid aside, sweeping her eyes out over the chamber––

Not even five droids remained standing.

She blinked in surprise.

Both Jedi pushed forward into the hailfire, blades flashing inside the ozone-smoked atmosphere in arcs of greens and blues, their cloaks swirling with every spin and duck and dive. It couldn't have even been a minute later when the last droid was reduced to little more than a sparking heap of severed arms and chopped, smelted torso.

Bastila noticed Revan wasn't standing beside her anymore.

She heard his voice echo somewhere from across the chamber, and she heard the Overseer's ear-torturing language ring out along the walls––

At the other end of the chamber, a pair of doors ground open.

She saw Revan step inside.

**.::.**

Beyond the archway, there came a light.

A sharp, crystalline blue, spraying off the ghost of an orb spinning up into the air, as if it had caught the riptides of a storm twisting between the four jagged claws of darkness––

The memory of her dream––of _their _dream––bled back to the contours of her mind.

_So this is it, after all,_ she thought. She pulled her eyes away from the sight of the holoprojected mass looming before her, and she looked for Revan––he stood half-illuminated outside the light of the orb. A frown touched Bastila's face, and she shivered. The way the light was spinning over him and pulling along his figure, and the way the night-dark fabrics of his tunic graced the shadows around him...

Bastila swallowed. There was no need to describe the form he had appeared to take in that moment, standing there in the shadows.

Her skin crawling, she approached the massive hologram.

"This is what they found, when they came..." Revan said from across the chamber, staring at the map with a curious, cold light in his eyes.

"This must be where their journey down the dark side began," Bastila said, and shook her head, stopping where Revan stood. She leaned a little closer to the massive hologram before them, noticing the intricate veins and pinpoints that surely represented something.

He looked at her questioningly. "What are you talking about?"

She ignored him a moment and leaned closer to the hologram, making him fidget nervously behind her. "This is some sort of map. Some sort of navigational chart," she said.

His eyes flickered darkly. "A map?"

She nodded, slower this time. She extended one shaky hand to the hologram, toward one small, flaring yellow atom in orbit––

"See this world here? This looks like Korriban."

Revan tilted his head to one side. His presence darkened. "A Sith world."

Bastila nodded, as did Revan. He moved beside her and pointed to the next orb. "And if that's Korriban––"

"Then this must be Kashyyyk," she finished, then pointed to another. "And Tattooine...and here's Manaan..."

Bastila shook her head, shook herself, taking several steps back from the hologram before coming to a complete stop. She looked up at its immensity and studied the lines again, tracing them along both their linear and curved paths, her frown unraveling––

She was staring at hyperspace corridors, and the borders of star systems, and trade routes––

She felt her heart sink, and the chamber seemed to darken around them as she averaged the position of the nearest sun on the map, then estimated the time of day outside...

She realized, with a slow-dawning perception, that they were staring at a mirror of the galaxy.

**.::.**


	21. Chapter Eighteen

**Hey guys! Miss me? **

**Well, the next chapter is FINALLY here...yeah, I know, it took like ten ages (sorry about that) but I have it here now. So...thank you to ****_everyone_**** who has read/reviewed/followed/favorited this story over the past couple of months! Don't think it ever goes unnoticed, because your input really keeps me motivated to write more. You guys are all so awesome! And - real quick - another special thanks to RyanPm, for being such an awesome beta. **

**Okay, so...go ahead and get to reading! Review for me if ya'll could, thanks! Enjoy!**

* * *

**Chapter Eighteen**

The dawn rose silently.

Storm clouds parted. Stars shrank to far points out beyond the atmosphere. Night collapsed.

From the center of the view wall along the Chamber's north face, there materialized a titanium-black tear––Bastila watched it expand, protract, spread out over the rest of the transparisteel circlet like an oil tide––and the Chamber was cloaked in darkness.

A ghostly image built itself into the air, revolving slowly around the center of the Chamber.

Vandar watched the holoimage drift out around them. "The knowledge of this star forge," he said in a grave voice, his eyes narrow and cold, and dark. "You say it was sought for––by Revan and Malak?"

Bastila shifted in her chair to look at the small Master before returning her focus to the holoimage. "As was the star map itself," she said with a nod, gesturing to the holoimage.

From across the chamber, Zhar leaned forward in his chair and steepled his fingers pensively, frowning into the holoimage. "It's incomplete," he said. "There are pieces missing––entire worlds. Incomplete hyperspace coordinates. Corrupted data––"

"Then we work with what we're given," Vrook said abruptly, almost coldly. He tucked his arms into the sleeves of his robe and took a step closer to the holoimage. His eyes moved upward to scan an orange mote about the size of his thumb––Tattooine––as it drifted past his face. "This discovery is impossible to dismiss. Whatever the Star Forge is, it concerned Revan and Malak's conquest for _power_––possibly the same power Malak wields against us now."

Vandar's face darkened. "Tattooine, Manaan, Kashyyyk, Korriban, Dantooine..." He sighed grimly, his eyes following the miniature planets in orbit.

Dorak lifted his head a little. "Revan visited Korriban at least once," he said. "in his travels."

Bastila stared into the holoimage. "Perhaps there is something worth discovering on these worlds," she said. "Something that completes the map."

Revan's dark eyes met hers through the translucent shimmer of the holoimage. "That's a rather large assumption to be making," he said, his voice as empty as his eyes. Those were the first words he had spoken to her all morning. He hadn't even looked at her since their departure from the ruins.

Bastila frowned, leaning back in her chair to study him while the Masters' voices bounced out around them––he only returned to staring at the floor between his boots. Something dark inside of him was stirring, whispering.

"Could it be a weapons plant?" Vrook said. "Or a factory? That might explain how the Sith were able to amass a fleet so quickly."

"I suspect the star forge is far more powerful than any mere factory," Vandar said.

Dorak spread his hands. "Perhaps it is a weapon in itself," he said.

"Perhaps there are other star maps, such as the one in the ruins," Zhar said, turning his stare upon the compass of faces present, seeking input with one eyebrow raised. "This could likely be but a small piece in a much larger puzzle, as Bastila suggests––"

"Perhaps," Revan said coldly, speaking slowly as he gathered his thoughts. "we should start worrying _less_ of what it is––and more on how to _find_ it."

The Masters exchanged looks. Bastila only leaned back in her chair, studying Revan curiously––he only stared into the holoimage, lost there. After a moment his voice returned.

"We use it," he said, softer now, the muscles along his jaw rippling with a faint twitch, like a shudder to whatever thoughts were reeling through his head. "These worlds...this star map––Bastila and I were joined to find these things, we should remember."

Vrook shook his head, "We can't just go on some blind hunt––"

"Then what _can_ we do?" Zhar said abruptly, dragging his hands tiredly down his face before letting them fall back into his lap. "What other options do we _have_? We've been wasting time as it is already." He looked at each Jedi in turn. "This may be the chance we're given to defeating Malak––"

"Action _is_ required, but we must not do so in haste," Vandar said gravely, pacing with his back to the holoimage. "We must discuss recent events in light of this new information. We must learn _why_ Revan and Malak sought it out––it would be foolish on our behalf to seek such mysteries without knowing the underlying consequences."

"Then we should consult the Jedi archives," Dorak said gently. "to see if there is any mention of the star forge, and what it might do. Perhaps _there_ we can find new light to shed upon the matter."

The Chamber fell into silence, and Bastila felt the quiet flow of contemplation around, then agreement. Vandar looked around the near-empty chamber with tired eyes, and nodded solemnly, his chin coming back down to the head of his cane. "So it will be," he said.

**.::.**

_The galaxy is a blaze of war–– _

_Dawn to the world below uncurls the skylines in fire, unleashing a black rain of death blasted down from ever-darkening falling skies–– _

_Confusion––desperation––terror–– _

_Outer space swallows the metagalactic thunder of turbocannons to silence, muting the fear-torn outcries of life sent spiraling into death, punctuated by little snarls of flame and vapor trails as the enemy crushes through to the Republic. _

_The Republic is praying._

_The Republic is dying._

_And he, alone there in the crypt of a cold shadowed command port, stands, smiling._

_An icy whisper––holding him frozen as he watches the fighters jettison the hanger bay, one after the other, caught in riptides of flashing sun-corona carnage, then simply gone–– _

_That icy whisper chilling his spine and scraping at the door to his heart, heralding the vacuum-silenced screams that find him in the dead of night, and haunt him, and suck him down into the frozen black abyss–– _

_The dusted planetary rings of Althir–– _

_Jagi's face––his is always the first face he sees. _

_Jagi's face is the one that always finds him, in the end–– _

"Canderous."

His name.

He stirred.

"Canderous?"

The sound launched him out of the past, while the voice itself did not belong to Jagi.

He blinked, working his mouth, squinting against the hot white glob of glare burning his eyes. The voice repeated his name––he recognized it, just barely. His eyes slowly adjusted to the silhouette looming over him, and sure enough he blinked Flyboy into focus.

"lemme '_lone_..." he mumbled harshly, then choked and fought down a triggered gag reflex in the back of his throat, detecting a sickly-sweet smell burning through his nasal passages and his mouth––

A frown touched his brow. He'd been in kolto, and for a long while by the taste of it.

"Three days," Carth said, as if he'd read his thoughts.

Canderous' frown deepened as he took in his surroundings. He was slouched on a cot in some kind of medical ward, wrapped in something fluffy and cottony and white––

A kriffing _blanket_ –– ?

His expression darkened. _Cute, _he thought coldly.

He peered grimly beneath the white of the blanket, and found instead the rough white of bandages, plastered in tight patches over his skin, dressing what he guessed the kolto couldn't restore.

"What happened?" he croaked grimly, gingerly brushing the bandages with his fingertips.

"You hit a mine," Flyboy said, taking a couple of steps back and sinking down into a nearby chair. "Well, not _directly_––but the blast still threw you. After you hit the ground they came––"

"_They_––?"

Flyboy's expression darkened. "The other raiders," he said coldly. "They tumbled onto the cliff from the overhead escarpment and opened fire––I took a couple of shots myself, hauling you back to the speeders. We barely escaped alive."

A pair of medical units wheeled over to Canderous now, the whine of their circuitry cutting into his sensitive ears. He didn't even grit his teeth when they began pricking him with needles and devices, like he was some sort of medical cadaver. H_e _hardly even took notice to them.

"You at least killed the commander?" he asked seriously.

Carth shook his head, and the frown on his face started to gather thunder. "No," he said, through his teeth. "I was too busy dragging your damaged ass over my shoulder with two blaster-holes fried into my _leg_––sorry if I wasn't exactly in the best shape to take down a Mandalorian ringleader and his trigger-happy pets."

"What, you want a '_thank-you_'?"

"No, I don't," Carth said, shaking his head. "You don't even deserve to _give_ gratitude. You don't even deserve to be _alive_."

Canderous shook his head. Was the Flyboy hopped up on painkillers?

"Then why in the thousand tides didn't you just leave my _damaged ass _there––"

"Because," Carth said sharply, coldly, and he leaned forward in his chair to look Canderous dead in the eye, something dead in his own eyes. "in the end, we're all the same––_right_?"

Canderous' jaw ground down tight on his lower teeth like a lock-clamp, and it sent little bamboo-shoots of pain stabbing into his face as he recalled their past quarrel in _Hawk_'s service pit––just moments before little blue Noodlehead's pet hairball had interrupted them.

He lifted his head to meet the starpilot's glare––

––and he found that he couldn't quite bring himself to do it.

Carth nodded to himself––as if he was satisfied with whatever he saw in the Mandalorian's face, in his eyes. Then he stood and left the ward without another word.

**.::.**

Fallon waved the door open and stepped into the meditation chamber beyond. He sensed the Commander before he even spotted her––she sat cross-legged on a low pod at the rear of the chamber, her eyes closed, her face set in a sensitive, thoughtful way.

Fallon's footsteps multiplied under the lightfoils and the energies swirling around him––his presence passed through the other students like a live wire, snapping their eyes wide open and coiling back their muscles as if they were on the receiving end of an arc-blast hazard.

He watched this with mild amusement.

An empty pod directly before the Commander––he seated himself, delaying their conversation until the other students had retreated from the chamber, startled by his appearance, as always.

With her eyes still closed, the Commander breathed a little close-mouthed sigh. "Stop mortifying them."

Fallon grinned. "It's engaging," he said, and against the lightfoils he saw a ghost of a smile flit across the Commander's face. Her eyes opened and she studied the floor between Fallon's boots.

Then they sat like this for what seemed like a long while, in silence.

"Master Dorak and I consulted the archives earlier today," she said. Fallon's jaw clenched.

He leaned forward in his pod, bringing his hands together. "And––?"

"And..." she said slowly, clasping her own hands together, mimicking his movement. "...there's nothing there."

Fallon blinked. "Nothing––?"

"That's what I said."

"But how?"

She sighed. "Do I look like an oracle to you?"

Fallon gave her a look––she only shrugged.

"No, I don't understand it either," she said. "An empire as big as the one the builders created––its collapse would have left behind _some _kind of mark––"

"Unless they were over-glorifying themselves," Fallon grinned.

She shook her head and continued. "The hutts were a dominant force in the years before the Republic, but––" Her face went tight as she thought. "––they never constructed an _empire_. In fact there are _no _species that would fit the description––there's an inconsistency here and we're not seeing it. I just _know_ there is. I can feel it."

Fallon felt his expression darken. A silence began to deepen in the chamber.

"What kind of an empire would erase its own legacy?" he said in a quiet voice, and for a small pause the Commander didn't quite seem to catch on.

Then her own expression went cold.

She lifted her head and met his gaze, regarding him at a distance. "An empire that wants to hide," she said in an equally-quiet voice, and when Fallon nodded something like worry crystallized in her eyes. Even after she blinked it out, it still remained trace in her mind, through their bond.

"A threat that large would have left it's _own_ mark––"

"But it didn't," Fallon said, watching a multiplex-string of reactions break out on her face and hover there, then disappear a split second later. He swallowed, and said, "That's the scary part."

The Commander didn't say anything else––she only held his gaze, and Fallon fought a sharp intake of breath at the sudden security he found there, the reassurance. And it _was_ reassuring––she was strong, and something about it, something of reliance and soundness, was always reflecting in her presence. Something safe.

The chamber fell into a silence so deep Fallon could hear the soft creep of rain start up beyond the walls of the chamber. He spoke again, still holding their gaze. "They won't keep us here much longer."

Something in her eyes changed and she looked away, shaking her head slowly and closing her eyes. "They wouldn't just send us on some suicide mission––"

"No?" Fallon leaned back and crossed his arms. "Then what _would_ they do?"

"Fallon––" He could hear the frustration rising in her voice. "They can't just saddle an obstinate Knight and a neophyte padawan with something this serious. This _influential_."

"Unless they trust you."

The Commander's eyes flickered briefly up to his, then back down again. "They don't," she said. "You know that. I know that."

"Then why did they place you in charge of watching over me?" he said, and he felt his words burn through her system like a hot-fuse.

Her hands froze, and she blinked and turned to look at him –– "_What_?"

"Please don't, Commander––I already know that the Council _doesn't_ trust me. And that bothers me. To be frank I don't trust them either. You know that. I know that. But if they've placed me in _your_ command––" He shook his head, absently tracing the creases in his palms. "––then I suspect it wasn't without reason."

The Commander stiffened, but her face remained indifferent. "It's not––they're _just_ being cautious, Fallon. If they seem discreet, it's only because they're being _mindful_––any single wrong decision right now and...and..."

She trailed into silence and closed her eyes, lowering her head. "There's just too much at stake right now, Fallon. Just too much," she said, and he studied her. A chill scraped up his spine, into his heart.

"And..." he said slowly, still watching her. "what are _you_ hiding?"

She was silent, and still, her eyes still closed. Fallon leaned forward and put a hand on her arm––she started at the touch but he ignored her. "Just tell me––"

"_Stop_," she said, firmly, and he did. He withdrew his hand like she had burned it. "You..." she started, then she bit her lip and shook her head and tried again. "You're right––they don't trust you." Then she opened her eyes and said, softer now, "Not after Juhani."

Fallon fidgeted and fought down a sudden whisper rising up inside of him. His throat felt tight, and his eyes started to burn. "I didn't––"

"You have a great gift, Fallon," she said gently. "An _awesome_ command of the Force––and you're dangerous. You could be the savior of the galaxy. Or––" She swallowed and said, "...or you could bring destruction upon us all."

Fallon remained quiet, watching her. "But what about you? What about your _battle meditation_?" he said, lifting an eyebrow, stretching out a faint smile. "That could do us all in."

She didn't smile back––something serious had locked itself into her face. Dead serious. "I'm no less resistant to the dark side than you are," she said grimly.

"So they're afraid of me falling," he said. It wasn't a question.

She nodded gravely. "Who wouldn't be?" she said, dryly, like it was some kind of a joke.

He considered this for a long time in silence. When he looked up at her again she was studying his reaction. "And what about you?" he said.

She frowned. "What about me––?"

"Do you trust me?"

She blinked in surprise––_brief_ surprise––then leaned away from him and shook her head. "I don't know," she said quietly. Something in her voice broke, at the end, and Fallon pretended like he hadn't heard it.

Silence fell between them. Neither of them looked at the other.

Then Fallon made himself move. "Then we'll just be careful."

She rolled her eyes. "It's not that easy––"

"We'll have each other's backs. That's not too hard."

She met his gaze, opening her mouth to say something, then appearing to think better and closing it. He gave her something like a consoling smile, mutated and twisted and distorted by his own worry––but nonetheless a smile. He didn't realize his hand was on hers now.

She didn't scare at the touch this time.

"I won't fall," he said, trying to force all the certainty his nerves could muster into his words.

The Commander nodded carefully––even after the last word echoed from Fallon's lips, she still held his gaze, and for a moment there was nothing. Just silence. Just the soft patter of rain outside, the distant roll of thunder.

Then Fallon slowly grew attuned to a kind of magnetic _pulse_ jarring the air, pumping into his heart with little hot, glass-shard spasms, shooting electric shivers down his spine and crawling around into his legs, twisting through his knees and numbing his toes and fingertips––

He blinked and pulled back.

He looked for the Commander's face, still blinking, and he glimpsed something like a light shooting through her eyes and then evaporating like dust to a particle beam. He noticed his hand was still resting on hers, and he released it like it was a spiking voltage switch.

"I won't fall," he said again, not because he thought she hadn't heard him the first time but because he felt like he needed to say something. To smooth over the invisible lightning-waves rippling and ripping through the air and through his bones.

She just nodded again––quicker this time––and her eyes flickered to his face, then to his hand, then to her boots. The floor. She stood and walked past him, toward the exit, her cloak billowing out behind her and her footsteps swift. Fallon didn't stop her.

"Good night, Fallon," she said quickly. Then he heard the doors whish open and hiss close, and he felt her presence fade from the corridor outside. But not from their bond. Nor from his mind.

He stared blankly at the floor. "Good night," he said softly.

**.::.**


End file.
